


Blood in the Sun

by wilddragonflying



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Angst, Dragonborn Hank Anderson, Fighting Together, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, Vampire Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Vampires, Werewolf Hank Anderson, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 08:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20404690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: The chill wind slicing through Winterhold is brutal to the humans, but Connor barely feels it. When he adjusts the clasp of his cloak, it’s to settle it more squarely about his shoulders, not because he’s cold.Vampires don’t feel the cold much, after all.The Frozen Hearth is easy to find - it’s the largest building in Winterhold, and the one with the most foot traffic, guards and townspeople alike coming and going. Connor pushes the door open, gaze already sweeping the interior of the bar. Harbinger Fowler had told him that Hank Anderson, the Companion best suited to help him with the quest he’d undertaken, would be here along with his shieldsister Tina. Jarl Korir had confirmed that Hank was here.By the bar, Connor spots a woman in Companions armor, Skyforge steel hanging at her side. That must be Tina, he surmises, turning his attention to the rest of the inn. He dismisses the guards immediately, and there is no one else in Companions armor -Except for the man in the back corner, his back to the wall, large hound resting at his feet, and his gaze focused on the drink in his hand.





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! I had the great pleasure of working with curlzformetal on this fantastic idea for a Hankcon AU, and I am so excited to finally share the fic and the art with you all!
> 
> You can find the other fics for this year's RBB [here!](https://hankconrbb.wordpress.com/)
> 
> You can find curlz's art [here!](https://curlzformetal.tumblr.com/post/187291445188/art-for-the-hankconreversebigbang-its-a-skyrim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner by curlzformetal! Isn't it just lovely?

The chill wind slicing through Winterhold is brutal to the humans, but Connor barely feels it. When he adjusts the clasp of his cloak, it’s to settle it more squarely about his shoulders, not because he’s cold.

Vampires don’t feel the cold much, after all. 

The Frozen Hearth is easy to find - it’s the largest building in Winterhold, and the one with the most foot traffic, guards and townspeople alike coming and going. Connor pushes the door open, gaze already sweeping the interior of the bar. Harbinger Fowler had told him that Hank Anderson, the Companion best suited to help him with the quest he’d undertaken, would be here along with his shieldsister Tina. Jarl Korir had confirmed that Hank was here. He had told Connor that, after Hank and Tina had returned to him with the news that the beasts they’d been contracted to take care of were dead, they had headed for the Inn.

By the bar, Connor spots a woman in Companions armor, Skyforge steel hanging at her side. _ That must be Tina, _ he surmises, turning his attention to the rest of the inn. He dismisses the guards immediately, and there is no one else in Companions armor - 

Except for the man in the back corner, his back to the wall, large hound resting at his feet, and his gaze focused on the drink in his hand. He’s wearing dragonbone armor, and that, combined with the Companions insignia on the cloak hanging on the back of his chair, is enough to confirm that this is the man Connor has been looking for. He strides across the inn, approaching Hank with measured steps. “Hank Anderson?”

The man’s gaze lifts, a glare creasing his brow as he stares at Connor. “What do you want?”

“My name is Connor; Harbinger Fowler told me that I would find you here in Winterhold,” Connor explains. “I approached the Companions for help, and he told me that you would likely be the best suited to take on the contract I offer. May we speak in private?”

Hank snorts. “I’m not going anywhere until this mug is empty,” he says bluntly, expression stubborn. “You could be sent from Talos himself and my ass wouldn’t be moving.”

Connor tilts his head, assessing - and while the thought of spilling Hank’s drink is _ incredibly _ tempting, if all goes well, Connor will be traveling with the man who may well hold Connor’s life in his hands at some point. Best not to get started on the wrong foot. So, all he does is incline his head, moving to step away. “I’ll wait by the door,” he says politely, leaving when Hank’s only answer is a grunt.

Hank takes his time finishing his drink, but Connor uses the time to study him, so it’s not time wasted. The stories of the Dragonborn are numerous, particularly after the defeat of Alduin that had seen dragons soaring across the skies of Skyrim to circle the top of the mountain the Greybeards called home. Hank had been depicted as a fierce warrior, and while Connor doesn’t doubt that’s true, he’s also not entirely sure that Hank is up for another adventure of similar magnitude. Still, when Hank and his hound finally approach him, Connor leads the way from the inn and around the back, the most privacy they can manage while still being out of the cold, bitter wind. 

“So,” Hank drawls, “what’s so fucking important you had to discuss it with me in secret?”

“This,” Connor answers, reaching into his pack and pulling out an Elder Scroll. “I stole it from someone who would use the information inside to harm the world. I need your help to find out what, exactly, it says, and to prevent her from succeeding.”

Hank’s eyes, which had grown to roughly the size of large apples when Connor had pulled out the Elder Scroll, narrow as he glances back up at Connor. “Who had it?” he demands roughly, stepping in close. He’s all but _ looming _ over Connor, and - 

And Connor’s never felt intimidated by a human before, but there’s something itching under his skin, some sort of reaction to Hank’s closeness that Connor doesn’t want to analyze right now. So he throttles it back, tucking the Elder Scroll safely in his pack before answering, “Lady Amanda Stern, of Castle Kaiberlaife.”

“Castle - Where the hell is that?”

Connor takes a deep breath. “It’s situated on an island to the west of Solitude. It’s the ancestral home of a long line of vampire lords.”

Hank’s gaze flicks to Connor’s - and Connor meets it evenly. He sees the moment that Hank realizes what Connor is, sees Hank reach for his sword, and reacts instinctively. 

By the time that Hank’s sword cleaves the air, Connor is invisible and six feet to the left. He lifts the invisibility spell, holding his hands up in a gesture of supplication, peace. “I’m not here to hurt you, or anyone else!” he protests. “I want to _ stop _ Amanda from hurting others!”

“You’re a goddamned _ vampire, _” Hank spits, shifting on the balls of his feet, sword held at the ready - but he doesn’t make another move to attack Connor yet. “Why the fuck should I trust anything you say?”

“Because I have a letter from Fowler recommending you help me, and because the fact that I’m here and telling you about this plan means that I don’t agree with Amanda,” Connor says quickly, desperate to convince Hank before he decides that Connor’s not worth trusting. “Let me show you the letter.”

Hank doesn’t say anything for a moment, gaze suspicious, but then he nods, once, with a sharp jerk of his head. “Fine. Reach for it slowly.”

Connor does as ordered, telegraphing his movements clearly as he takes the letter from the inner pocket of his pack. “Here,” he says, holding it out by the edge of the envelope. 

Hank moves forward slowly, snatching the envelope from Connor’s hand. He backs up, keeps a wary eye on Connor as he breaks the seal of the wax and starts reading. Connor stays put and silent, waiting for Hank to make the first move. Whatever Fowler had written must convince Hank because he swears vigorously before folding the letter and tucking it into his own pack. “Alright,” he growls, looking back at Connor, slightly less suspicious. “What _ exactly _ is this - Amanda’s plan?"

“She wants to remove the threat of the Tyranny of the Sun,” Connor explains. “She believes that there is an artifact that can destroy the sun’s influence on Nirn, and over vampires. She’s become obsessed with it in recent years, and finally acquired two Elder Scrolls that supposedly detail a prophecy of how this can be accomplished.”

“You’re a vampire, why the hell do you want to stop her?”

“Because if she destroys the sun’s influence on Nirn, it’s not just humans who will suffer - vampires will be hunted to extinction, even the ones who don’t kill those they feed from, or change others without permission.” Connor holds Hank’s gaze steadily, hoping to convey his sincerity. “I don’t want that, Hank. Neither does my brother, or several of our friends in the Castle. My brother and I stole the Elder Scrolls that she had acquired. He hid with his, and I set out to find help - I went to the Companions, and Fowler recommended you.”

“Why?”

“Because you have experience with quests like this,” Connor says. “Being the Dragonborn.”

A shadow crosses Hank’s face. “So this is another ‘save the fucking world’ quest.”

Connor’s mouth opens, closes. He nods. “Yes, it is.”

Hank takes in a deep breath, lets it out on a sigh. “God fucking - _ Fine. _ You have a lead?”

“Yes. The only ones able to read an Elder Scroll are Moth Priests, and we heard news of one traveling to Skyrim,” Connor says, letting his hands drop and his defensive posture relax. “It’s lucky you were in Winterhold already, because I was going to ask at the College to see if they knew anything about the Priest.” 

“Wizards always know more than they should,” Hank mutters, sheathing his sword. “Alright. It’s not too late yet, let’s go. Might as well get started while you can still be up and about.”

Connor dares a small smile, though Hank doesn’t return it. “Thank you for accompanying me, Hank.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank me if we don’t die by the end of this. C’mon, Sumo.”


	2. Prophet

“I hadn’t realized the College hadn’t fixed this bridge yet.”

Hank looks askance at Connor, brow furrowed. “The hell are you on about? Everyone knows the College insists they’ve got more important things to worry about than a broken bridge.”

“Everyone who’s been to this part of the continent in the past eighty years, perhaps,” Connor retorts. “I rarely travel this far east, and when I do, I’m usually conducting business in Riften.”

“Right,” Hank says doubtfully, turning his attention back to the bridge they’re approaching. Faralda is at her post; when she recognizes Hank, she waves both him and Connor past. “So you haven’t been to Winterhold in eighty years?”

“Correct,” Connor says, glancing over the edge of the bridge, towards the Sea of Ghosts. “I was here during the Great Collapse - an event like that _ does _ tend to leave an impression on one, and encourage them to avoid the area.”

Hank blinks. “You were _ here _ during the Great Collapse? How fucking old are you?”

“That’s a rude question, Hank,” Connor chides, but he sounds distinctly amused. “I was turned during the Third Era, though I forget the exact year. My brother and I met Elijah, a vampire who recognized our skills in magic when my brother distracted him and I, invisible, attempted to pickpocket him. He spent a while in Riften getting to know us, and then offered to turn us.”

“And you accepted, obviously.” Hank doesn’t bother trying to hide the distaste in his voice.

Connor shrugs, pausing so that Hank and Sumo can walk first over a narrower piece of the bridge. “Yes. At the time, we believed it would give us a better standing in life. And it did, in a way.” Hank snorts, and Connor rolls his eyes. “I understand you have no fondness for my kind, Hank, but you _ did _ ask.”

Hank grumbles wordlessly - because he _ had _, after all, asked - as he pushes the gate to the College open and changes the subject. “The Arcanaeum is in the Hall of the Elements, if anyone will know about a Moth Priest in Skyrim it’ll be Urag.”

Connor, for his part, simply nods and follows beside Hank as he leads the way across the courtyard, through the doors to the aforementioned Hall, and up the stairs to the second floor. The Arcanaeum smells of old paper and ink, candle wax burnt into the wood below it, and that sharp spice that Hank always associates with magical tomes. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees Connor looking around with wide eyes, the expression on his face suggesting that he’s just walked into his new favorite place in the world, or maybe just reunited with an old friend. 

Hank shakes his head when he realizes that he’s nearly _ smiling _ at the sight of Connor, turning to cross the Arcanaeum floor quickly, approaching Urag gro-Shub’s desk, Sumo trotting obediently at his side. The hound had learned a hard lesson from the orc the last time he’d been in the Arcanaeum about wandering off. “Urag! How are you doing?”

“Hank,” Urag greets, surprise writ clear on his face. “I am well; it is good to see you, my friend. What can I help you with?”

“My companion, Connor, and I were hoping you might have heard news of a Moth Priest,” Hank says, gesturing over his shoulder to Connor, who’s studying a tome laid open on a nearby table; at the sound of his name, Connor starts, approaching with an apologetic look. 

“Moth Priests?” Urag echoes, expression turning thoughtful. “They usually stay at the White Gold Tower in Cyrodil. They rarely leave, but… There _ was _ one that came here to do some research just a couple of days ago.” Urag strokes his beard, looking at Connor and Hank shrewdly. “If you ride fast, you may catch up to him. He was planning to travel to Dragon Bridge and Solitude, to follow a lead he had found, I believe.”

“Thanks,” Hank says, nodding. “If it’s just the two of us, we might be able to catch him at Dragon Bridge; I know the roads pretty well, know a few shortcuts to get us there faster.”

Connor echoes his thanks, which Urag waves off, and the two of them take their leave, making their way back through Winterhold to The Frozen Hearth. Hank ducks inside to settle his tab and tell Tina to let Jeff know he’s gone with Connor, ignores the none-too-subtle teasing as he leaves, and meets Connor behind the inn to pick up their horses.

Hank’s gelding is dark brown, solidly built, wide and tall; a warrior’s horse, able to carry a man in full armor for long distances. He’s also one of the few mounts that tolerates him on its back. Connor’s horse is a smaller, slighter thing - leggy, athletic. She should keep up easily, if not actually outpace Moby. “Nice mare,” Hank says, nodding as Connor tacks up. “You breed her?”

“Bought her,” Connor corrects. “A trader passing through didn’t know what he had. I almost felt bad for how little I paid for a Shadowghost.”

Hank’s eyebrow climbs. “A Shadowghost? She’s got the color for it, I suppose.”

“And the temperament, as well as the uncanny ability to vanish in the fog,” Connor says blithely. “Nyxa is one-of-a-kind, and has been a good companion for years now.”

Hank snorts, checking the fit of his girth before he answers. “Long as she can keep up and doesn’t disappear on you, that’s all that matters to me.”

Connor laughs, and Hank loses his grip on the strap in his hand at the sound. “_ You’ll _ have to keep up with _ us, _ Hank,” Connor says, smirking at Hank as he mounts from the ground, laughing outright when Hank swears at him for ‘showing off.’

Once Hank’s finished tacking up Moby, he leads the horse to a nearby box, using that to give him the height needed to mount. He whistles for Sumo, who trots over, tongue lolling, and they take their leave of the snow-covered, half-destroyed town.

* * *

They set a hard pace, and Hank guides them along several smaller, less-traveled paths. “Found these while I was trekking all over this gods-forsaken land,” he grunts when Connor asks him about it. “Saving the world doesn’t let you travel in one line, you gotta go back and forth and back and forth; it’s fucking ridiculous.”

Connor had laughed at that. “Perhaps the villains set it up that way,” he’d suggested, a light to his eyes that wasn’t due to the bloodthirst gleam. “To make it harder for heroes like you to foil their plans.”

They do manage to avoid trouble for the most part, only running into a few skirmishes with bandits; Connor never needs to dismount during these, often conjuring a bow - which Hank admits is a handy spell to have, after one of the spectral arrows buries itself in the neck of a bandit who’d managed to come up behind him while he’d been fighting another - and picking off the bandit archers before providing support for Hank, often crippling bandits for Sumo to finish off. 

Their third night on the road together, the heightened gleam in Connor’s eyes catches Hank’s attention as they make camp. “I’m not going to wake up with your fangs in my neck, am I?” Hank asks, poking at the rabbit cooking over the fire, Sumo busy with the entrails by his feet. “You haven’t fed since we met, and I know your kind can only go so many days without feeding.”

“Vampire lords can go indefinitely without feeding,” Connor corrects. “We don’t go feral. But regardless, no. I would only feed from you with permission; otherwise, I have these.” He reaches into his pack, pulls out a bottle with a murky liquid inside. “Blood potions; specially crafted to preserve the life essence in blood. These are enough to keep me sated for some time, and I can make more if need be.”

Hank doesn’t quite trust that, but as Connor hasn’t attacked him yet, he lets the subject drop. 

Connor keeps watch during the nights as he and Hank travel across Skyrim, and the night they camp midway between Morthal and Dragon Bridge, Connor seems… agitated. Eventually, Hank can’t ignore it any longer, and breaks the silence that had fallen between them.

“Everything alright?” he asks, watching Connor carefully as the vampire paces.

“Yes. No?” Connor blows out a hard breath, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “I feel… anxious. It’s not _ me, _ per se - something feels off. I believe we’re getting close to the Moth Priest, but… We aren’t the only ones hunting him. Amanda will have found out about his presence, I’m sure, and she’ll have moved to capture him as well, enthrall him in preparation for finding me or Niles and the Scrolls we carry.”

“So, you’re - what? Feeling the presence of the other vampires?”

Connor offers him a wan smile. “I spent centuries with them, Hank,” he reminds him. “Vampire lords are… unique. More powerful than average; it’s why they’re called _ lords, _ after all. Many lower vampires instinctively defer to us, and when we spend time with other vampires, we establish not only a hierarchy, but a… bond. That is part of why it was so difficult for my brother and I to carry out our plan.”

“Huh.” Hank considers that for a moment. The concept isn’t unfamiliar to him, but the thought that _ vampires _ have something like a pack bond is new. “So you think the whole pacing thing is because you’re aware that some of the vampires you pissed off are nearby?”

Connor huffs, but he’s smiling. “Something like that, yes.”

“Think they’ll find the Moth Priest before we do?”

The smile drops off of Connor’s face, and he grimaces. “They might. If they do…” He sighs. “I’ll likely need to use my power on him to break the thrall bond. It will be… difficult.”

Hank makes a face at the thought of Connor using his powers on someone. “How… does a thrall bond work, exactly? I know that vampires are capable of it, but…”

Connor appears to consider his words carefully. “We have a power that we call the Seduction,” he says slowly, watching Hank intently. “It… affects the target’s mind, makes them receptive to our advances. If a mortal is affected by the Seduction and we bite them, we can create a thrall bond. It works on the mind and body equally, making the mortal desire to be near us and please us. I can use that same power to break another vampire’s thrall bond.”

“How does that work, if they’re already bonded to another vampire?” Hank asks, frowning.

“It would cause confusion; being a vampire lord, and an older one, my Seduction is more… potent. I’m experienced with it, know how to direct it. Using it on an already enthralled mortal would make them confused enough that they might be able to break the thrall bond themselves, or at least keep them still long enough for me to knock them out so that the vampire who entralled them can be killed. Once the vampire is dead, their Seduction loses its affect rapidly.”

“But you wouldn’t enthrall the Moth Priest yourself?” Hank presses, studying Connor intently. 

“No.” Connor’s answer is instantaneous and something tight eases in Hank’s chest. “I don’t make thralls, I’ve never seen the need for it.”

“Huh.” Hank doesn’t say anything else, and Connor doesn’t offer any more information for the rest of the night, but for the first time since they started traveling together, Hank sleeps relatively easily that night, watched over by a vampire. 

* * *

They break camp at first light, Connor settling his cloak and hood about his shoulders to help protect himself from the harsh light of the sun as Hank fixes his breakfast. Once Hank is fed and Connor’s downed one of his potions to further insulate himself against the rising sun, they mount up and continue down the road. Dragon Bridge is another few hours’ ride west, and they should reach it by noon.

Roughly an hour from Dragon Bridge, however, their plans get derailed; Sumo barks, a low, echoing sound that makes Connor startle in his seat, though Hank’s long used to it. “Easy, Sumo,” he soothes, drawing Moby up next to the hound who’s now standing at attention, ears pricked. “What is it?” Sumo lifts his head, sniffs the air, and growls, a rumbling noise that makes the horses shift uneasily on their feet. 

Connor pulls up alongside Hank, gaze sweeping the forest to either side of them as he asks, “Bandits?”

“No, he doesn’t growl like that for _ bandits, _” Hank snorts. “Something worse. Werebear or vampire is usually the only thing that gets that reaction from him.”

Connor swears under his breath. “Ten septims says it’s vampires.”

“I don’t take sucker bets,” Hank retorts, nudging Moby with his heels. “Sumo, get ‘em!”

Released, Sumo lunges forward, long limbs eating up the road easily, Hank and Connor hot on his heels. Hank has his sword drawn, can see lightning curling around Connor’s fingers as they round the bend in the road - 

Only to draw up short at the wreckage that greets them.

“_ Shit, _” Hank breathes, casting a critical eye over the wrecked cart and dead bodies strewn across the road. “They got ambushed.”

“Yes.” Connor’s voice is grim as he swings a leg over Nyxa’s back, dismounting easily; Hank stays mounted for the moment, watching Sumo as he moves through the bodies, checking them all. The hound doesn’t seem concerned with any other enemies, so Hank allows himself to relax slightly, switch his focus to Connor, who’s rolling one of the cloaked bodies. “Well. I know who attacked them,” he mutters just barely loud enough for Hank to hear.

“Some of Amanda’s vampires?”

“Yes,” Connor confirms, sighing as he straightens, something clutched in his hand. “There’s blood leading off of the road, and this one - “ He nudges the corpse he’d just rolled “ - had a note. They’ve taken the Moth Priest to Forebears’ Holdout.”

Hank frowns. “I don’t know where that is.”

“It’s an ancient vampire lair,” Connor explains, walking back to Nyxa and mounting. “I know where it is - and the blood leads in that direction.”

“Lead the way,” Hank says, sheathing his sword.

* * *

The blood trail winds through the forest, following what is little more than a game trail until the path widens into a clearing at the side of a hill. There are stones in the clearing that Hank and Connor steer the horses carefully around before Connor stops at a small opening in the side of the hill. “Here we are,” he announces, dismounting and removing Nyxa’s bridle, tucking it into a pack behind his saddle. Hank does the same with Moby’s bridle; like all adventurer’s horses, they’re trained to stay in a small area, to only run if there’s danger. 

Once the horses are taken care of, Hank calls Sumo to his side, unsheathing his sword and shield, holding them in a ready position. “Let’s hope they haven’t killed the Priest,” he says grimly.

“Go slow and quiet,” Connor advises him as they advance; he’s at Hank’s back, a quiet presence that makes the hairs on the back of Hank’s neck rise. “This tunnel leads to a cavern, it’s the only way in or out.”

Hank nods in silent confirmation, and they don’t speak again until they reach the end of the tunnel. Hank was expecting - Well, he wasn’t sure _ what _ he was expecting, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t the sight of an underground fortress. “Well, the name makes sense now,” he murmurs, laying a calming hand on Sumo’s back when he spots the Death Hounds at the bottom of the stairs. “Your advice? You know these vampires better than me.”

“Let me take out the archers,” Connor decides after a moment. “Then take care of the Hounds at the bottom of the stairs; if you draw any attention, you’ll only have to deal with close-range weapons, and they’ll only be able to come at you from one direction.”

Hank considers that, then nods. “Good a plan as any,” he grunts, shifting on his feet and stepping towards the stairs cut into the stone floor of the cavern. He watches Connor as he calls up a ball of purple magicka in his hand, his bow taking shape quickly. Connor lines up his shots carefully, and by the time Hank starts down the steps, only the Hounds seem to have realized that something’s wrong. 

Sumo tackles the closest one, and the sounds of their fight draws the other vampires from inside the fortress. Hank quickly dispatches the Hounds before turning his attention to the vampires. Purple flashes through the air, and the vampires at the back drop before they can get too close. The fight is over quickly, and as Hank advances on the fortress entrance, there’s the sound of fluttering wings and Connor appears at his side. In the dim light of the cavern, it’s difficult to tell, but Hank thinks that there’s smoke dissipating around Connor’s form. It makes something itch under his skin, a prickle of instinct reminding him that Connor is a _ predator, _ a creature all but designed to hunt mortals. 

Together, they advance on the fortress; the ground floor is empty, but as they round the stairs, passing behind a ruined wall, Hank barely represses a curse at the sight of the glowing, swirling wall of magicka. “Looks like our Priest is in there,” he mutters. 

“Looks like,” Connor agrees; his gaze flicks to the vampires standing by the magicka, arguing amongst themselves over how to handle the newly enthralled Priest, and he straightens, pressing a hand to Hank’s shoulder. “Stay here and guard the stairs, make sure they don’t get past you,” he murmurs, leaning in until his lips are bare inches away from Hank’s ears.

The pounding of his blood may not be _ entirely _ the fault of his predator’s instinct, but Hank shoves the thought away for the moment. “What are you going to do?”

“They’re lower vampires, their options are limited when fighting a lord,” Connor says, tone grim as he straightens. He steps away from Hank, not out of the shadows just yet, and cracks his neck - and this time Hank can see the blood-red smoke curling around him as he hunches in on himself. It obscures his form, but when Connor straightens, the smoke recedes, settles into his skin, and Hank can’t help but stare.

He’s never seen a vampire like this - hovering several inches above the ground, bony appendages that Hank thinks are supposed to be wings stretching from the backs of his shoulders. They’re missing the membranes that allow dragons to fly, but the claws on the joint look _ wickedly _ sharp, and Hank would hate to be on the receiving end of them. There’s enough of Connor about the face to be recognizable, though his face is elongated, shifted into something more bestial, ears stretched to points. His nose is now nearly flat against his face, fangs visible even with his mouth closed. There’s a crest at the back of his head, and he’s taller now, more muscular than before, though still lean. Connor’s skin is ashen, and Hank watches the shadows play over the expanse of it with a morbid fascination, eyes drawn to the claws on Connor’s hands, over the cloth and ornamentation wrapped around his chest. His gaze follows the ripple of his abdominal muscles, heart doing something distinctly _ odd _ in his chest as he does. There is an ornate cloth about Connor’s waist, embroidered with a logo of some kind, bones and metal ornamenting the cloth. His feet are more reminiscent of a dragon’s than a mortal’s, and his legs are just as muscled as the rest of his new form.

The fanged smile Connor gives him makes Hank’s heart stutter in his chest, and Connor’s attention shifts quickly to the vampires in the main room. His feet touch the ground, claws scraping against stone as he strides forward. “So!” Connor growls, his voice deeper in this form. “This is where Amanda sends her lackeys - or is this where her lackeys go to consider treason?”

The vampires spin in place, eyes wide with recognition when they spot Connor. One of them steps forward, his expression morphing into something ugly. “_ You’re _ one to talk, Connor,” he spits. “You stole an Elder Scroll, betrayed the one who gave you shelter when Elijah abandoned you and your brother. I wonder how well she’ll reward me when I return with the Priest, the Scroll, _ and _ your head?”

Connor laughs, the sound low, rumbling; it reverberates through the cavern, and Sumo whines at Hank’s side, shifting in place as Hank shudders, his most base instincts telling him he needs to run _ now. _ “You’ll be wondering until the moment I rip _ your _ head off, Malkus,” he promises darkly, and then lunges forward. His feet touch the ground, and by the time Hank blinks, Connor’s already crossed the cavern, pinned Malkus’s lackey to the wall on the other side. Malkus is running for him, but before he can reach Connor, there’s a hole in his lackey’s chest, and Connor is dodging the ice spike that Malkus aims at his back. 

There’s blood on Connor’s hands when they wrap around Malkus’s throat, claws digging into the skin there as he drags Malkus in close. The bony appendages that pass for wings flex, wrapping around Malkus, the claws on the joint sinking into his shoulders and holding him in place as Connor’s grip tightens, torso and shoulders twisting as he literally rips Malkus’s head from his body. The body drops with a familiar _ thump, _ and Hank straightens slowly, stepping forward as Connor shifts his attention to the magicka wall in front of them. 

“That… was something,” Hank comments, not quite looking at Connor.

“It always is,” Connor says; he sounds weary, resigned. “They always think numbers give them an advantage, and they’re always wrong.”

“Huh.” Silence falls between them, broken only by the crackle of magicka and the sound of Sumo snuffling at the bodies behind them. “So, what is this?” he asks, waving a hand at the scene before them. 

“A cage, essentially,” Connor muses. “Malkus likely had the focus on him.” He turns from the cage, searching the decapitated corpse quickly before straightening, a small blue orb held delicately between his claws. He extends it towards Hank. “The keyhole is up those steps, if I’m reading these runes right,” he says, gesturing towards the scratches on the floor.

“You want _ me _ to go mess around with the magic cage?” Hank asks doubtfully.

“Yes,” Connor says, the tone of his voice suggesting his patience is wearing thin. “The Moth Priest is likely already enthralled, and even though Malkus is dead, it will take some time for the thrall bond to break fully. It will break quicker if I use the Seduction on him, and it will be safer for _ you _ if I were closer to him than you were, so that you are not inadvertently affected.”

Hank blinks, caught off guard by that argument. “You think it could affect me?”

“I think you are underestimating how powerful a vampire lord can be,” Connor says wryly. “And I would rather be safe than sorry. So, if you would, please?”

Hank doesn’t say anything, just gives a jerky nod as he turns towards the staircase Connor had indicated. As he climbs the stone stairs, he finds himself wondering at the odd feeling in his chest; Connor was _ concerned _ about accidentally influencing Hank. That was… not a consideration that Hank had ever thought he’d get from a vampire.

Shaking his head, Hank attempts to clear his thoughts as he approaches the pedestal with a rounded indentation. It’s the only decoration up here, and Hank can see that the ridges inside of the pedestal match up with the pattern on the orb he’s holding. He spins the orb in his hand until the indentations and ridges line up, and carefully drops it into place. Almost immediately, the orb and pedestal begin to glow the same brilliant blue as the magicka cage. The glow pulses one, two, three times in rapid succession, and then the magicka surrounding the Moth Priest collapses. Hank readies his sword and shield as he descends the stairs, watching the Moth Priest stagger when the wall he was throwing himself against disappears. 

He isn’t off-balance for long however; as soon as his gaze lands on Connor, the Moth Priest attacks with a shriek, yelling something about his master that Connor cuts off with a hand on the Priest’s throat. “_ You don't want to attack me, _” Connor says, his voice a purr that makes Hank shift in place; in the firelight, he can see a blue flash cross the Priest’s eyes, his expression going unfocused, and knows that Connor’s used his power - but Hank hadn’t felt anything, just heard his voice.

His reaction to the tone of Connor’s voice, the fact that it’s all _ him, _ isn’t something Hank wants to think about at the moment. 

The Priest stays limp in Connor’s grasp for a long moment; Hank stays alert, ready to dart in if need be - but it turns out he doesn’t need to, because it’s only a few moments before the Priest is gasping and struggling against Connor’s grip. “Let go of me, foul creature!” he spits, slapping ineffectively at Connor’s arm. 

Connor simply lets him drop, taking a step back as the Priest struggles back up from his knees. Connor glances at Hank as he steps forward, and Hank gestures at Connor’s - well, his _ everything. _ “You think you should change back? Probably would make him feel better.”

Connor looks down at himself, mouth curved into a thoughtful frown before he nods. “A good point,” he allows, rolling his head side-to-side, the same blood red smoke as before surrounding him as he transforms back. His robes from before come back as well, and Hank idly wonders where the clothes went when he transformed - and he’d been clothed in the other form, too, hadn’t he? 

Hank’s distracted from his musing by the Moth Priest speaking again. “Wait, you’re - _ not _ going to attempt to enthrall me?”

Connor makes such a vehemently disgusted noise that Hank’s lips twitch involuntarily. “_ No, _” he says emphatically. “I wanted to speak with you, but - this place isn’t safe.” He glances at Hank, something considering in his gaze before turns back to the Moth Priest. “I have a place called Lakeview Manor that we could go to; it’s safe, unknown to those who attacked you and your caravan. We can explain what we wish from you on the way.”

The Priest hesitates. “I am a Moth Priest, you can only want one thing.”

“We’ve got an Elder Scroll that needs read,” Harry says bluntly. “Look, I’m the Dragonborn - I used another Scroll to defeat Alduin a couple of years ago. I don’t like vampires as a rule, but this one’s trustworthy.” He takes a breath, sheathes his sword and slings his shield onto his back, stepping forward and offering his hand to the Moth Priest. Most importantly, however, this move puts Connor directly at Hank’s back, a gesture of implicit trust that the Priest doesn’t miss. Neither does Connor, from the soft, surprised noise he makes. “Name’s Hank Anderson.”

The Priest hesitates, studying Hank for a moment before he takes his hand. “Dexion Evicus,” he says, introducing himself. “You say you have an Elder Scroll?”

“Yes.” Hank nods, stepping back. “But Connor’s right; this place isn’t safe. We should go somewhere that is before we talk about this any more.”

Dexion is clearly itching to ask about the Scroll, but he visibly restrains himself. “Very well.”

* * *

Dexion rides behind Hank all the way to Falkreath. He asks questions about the Scroll that Hank had read during the course of his quest against Alduin. Hank does his best to answer as patiently as possible, considering he doesn’t know much about Elder Scrolls. All he does know is that this one let him look through time to learn the Dragonrend shout so that he could kick Alduin’s scaly arse. And it had been an absolute _ pain _ to find.

Dexion even warms up to Connor as they travel and Connor maintains a respectful distance, often riding ahead with Sumo, making use of his keen senses to keep a look out for any potential trouble. The roads are quiet, thankfully, and they make good time, reaching the road that Connor tells them leads to his homestead by dusk. 

They press on, Hank confident in Connor and Sumo’s abilities to detect any potential trouble even in the fading light, and Dexion eager to read an Elder Scroll. “I’ve trained my whole life for this, but never had the chance to do it,” he tells Hank excitedly. “And a Scroll unknown to history, at that? Oh, this will be one for the history books!”

Hank can’t help but whistle lowly when Lakeview Manor comes into sight; it’s a splendid building, worthy of the title ‘Manor.’ The view itself is breathtaking, Secunda and Masser along with all of the stars in the night sky reflecting off of the lake below. “This seems like a prime spot,” Hank says as he pulls up next to Connor by the stables, waiting for Dexion to dismount before he does so as well. “How’d you get a hold of it?”

Connor laughs. “There was a necromancer about a century or so ago, just down the lakeshore,” he says as he dismounts. “He killed the previous occupants, was making a nuisance of himself for Falkreath’s jarl, and I offered to take care of the problem in exchange for the land and manor. The jarl accepted, and I held up my end of the bargain.” Connor begins untacking Nyxa as he continues speaking, and Hank does the same with Moby. “I helped several other residents, and the jarl offered to make me a thane, even after I told him I’m a vampire and his people may not be appreciative of me becoming a thane. He put it to a vote, and there were enough people who said yes, and enough who simply didn’t care as long as I wasn’t feeding on them, for him to decide it was worth the risk.”

“And that,” a woman’s voice cuts in from behind them, smooth and accented, “is where my family comes in.” 

Hank jumps and turns, hand on the pommel of his sword, but when Connor puts a hand on his shoulder, he freezes, the wolf beneath his skin unused to be touched so casually, so _ easily. _ “Hank, Dexion - this is Rayya. Her grandmother was my housecarl when I first became thane of Falkreath.”

Rayya is a Redguard, her hair covered in an Alik’r hood, two scimitars hanging by her side, and she offers Hank and Dexion a nod. “She was the only one willing to work for a vampire, and her husband and children did not mind living out here to keep an eye on the manor.”

“And your family has been working for him for a hundred years? You’ve never feared he may turn on you?” Dexion asks, curious. 

“Never crossed our minds after the first year,” Rayya says cheerfully, turning to lead the way into the manor. “He’s a good boss, always treated us fairly, and lets us have run of the Manor when he’s not hiding away from the other vampires he lives with. His brother is a bit scarier, though so long as we leave him be in the library, he’s no worse to deal with.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Rayya and her family also volunteered their blood for me to make my potions with, in the interest of full disclosure,” he informs Dexion and Hank. “I’ve never fed directly from them, but - “

“Oh, hell, we do enough bleeding on bandages fighting off bandits and bears, it’s not that big a deal,” Rayya says, waving a dismissive hand. “The larder’s fully stocked for us humans, help yourselves. Your horses looked like you’d had a long day’s ride.”

“Perhaps something to eat, and then we can read the Scroll?” Dexion suggests hopefully. “I am eager to read it, but reading Scrolls is… a tiring process, and I’ve had little to eat today.”

“Of course,” Rayya says with a smile. “I’ll show you around; Connor, there are freshly-used bandages in the cellar if you want to replenish your supply of potions.”

“Thank you, Rayya. No more than usual, I hope?”

“Some bandits giving travelers a hard time,” she says dismissively, gesturing for Hank and Dexion to follow her. “They weren’t that difficult to get rid of.”

Connor laughs at that. “If you say so,” he says, inclining his head. “I will meet you back up here after we’ve all had a chance to rest and feed ourselves,” he continues, glancing at Hank and Dexion. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

* * *

They meet in the library a couple of hours later, after eating a simple yet filling meal - and, in Hank’s case, changing from his armor to a simple tunic and trousers. Dexion is all but dancing in place with excitement as they wait for Connor to join them. Frankly, it reminds Hank of when he teases Sumo with a large bone. “May I see the Scroll?” Dexion asks once they’ve all gathered.

Connor nods, turning to one of the shelves in the library. He reaches for a book, and just when Hank’s about to remind him that Scrolls aren’t _ books, _ he tugs on the spine. The entire bookcase swings forward, revealing a safe in the wall behind it. “Wow,” Hank says, blinking. “That’s… actually pretty smart.”

Connor tosses a grin over his shoulder before focusing on the safe, dialing in the combination so quickly that Hank’s not sure he could have caught it, even if he had a better view. The Scroll isn’t the only thing inside of the safe, Hank can see, but he can’t make out anything more before Connor closes the door, lock catching with a _ snick. _

“Here,” he says, holding the Scroll out to Dexion. “I stole this from a vampire who was convinced that the key to ending what she called the Tyranny of the Sun was held within.”

Dexion carefully takes the Scroll in his hands, reverence clear in his expression. “I must concentrate,” he informs them. “Please, be quiet while I read.”

Hank and Connor both nod, each taking a step back from Dexion - a step which also puts them closer to each other. Were Connor human, Hank imagines he could feel the heat of Connor’s body through the thin fabric of their shirtsleeves. 

Dexion is quiet for several moments, brow furrowed as he studies the scroll, and then he begins to speak, slowly. “I see a vision before me, an image of a great bow. I have read of this weapon; it is Auriel's Bow! 

“Now a voice whispers, saying. ‘Among the night's children, a dread lord will rise. In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men, darkness will mingle with light and the night and day will be as one.’

“The voice fades and the words begin to shimmer and distort. But wait, there is more here. The secret of the bow's power is written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other scrolls. Yes, I see them now... One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood.”

“My vision darkens, and I see no more.” Dexion takes a deep breath, carefully closing the Scroll in his hands and holding it out to Connor. “To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other two scrolls,” he says. “It seems that whoever holds Auriel’s Bow intends to make those who seek it work for the privilege of wielding it.”

Connor laughs quietly, taking the Scroll and returning it to the safe. “Of course they do,” he murmurs. “Thank you, Dexion. Hopefully we will be able to track down these Scrolls quickly.”

Dexion inclines his head - and then promptly makes a face as he staggers, Rayya immediately at his side and steadying him. “I apologize, reading the Scroll took quite a bit of effort,” he says sheepishly. “I fear I must rest now.”

“Of course,” Connor soothes. “Rayya, if you’ll take him to one of the guest rooms?”

Rayya nods, leading the Moth Priest out of the library and leaving Hank and Connor alone. Connor appears lost in thought, and Hank hesitates for a moment before reaching out to tentatively touch his shoulder. “Connor?”

Connor blinks, focusing on Hank. “Yes?”

“You looked a bit deep in your head there. Everything alright?”

“I - Yes.” Connor gives himself a shake. “Yes, I apologize. I was thinking of the other Scroll that Amanda had - it was the Blood Scroll, I believe.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, the sigils about the seal… The only problem is, Niles took that one with him into hiding.”

Hank makes a face. “I don’t suppose you know where he went?”

Connor sighs. “That is the difficult part. He told me he would be following in Elijah’s footsteps. And Elijah disappeared well over three centuries ago.”

“Oh. That, uh. That _ is _ a problem, then.”

“Yes, it is,” Connor says, chuckling. “Perhaps I will think on it overnight.”

“Well, the good news is that I know where the Dragon Scroll is,” Hank offers. “I had to find it while trying to defeat Alduin.”

“You have it?” Connor asks, expression suddenly eager. “Where?”

“It’s at Jorrvaskr,” Hank says. “Thought about leaving it with the Greybeards or Paarthunax, but I didn’t feel like climbing all those damned steps again if I needed it.”

Connor laughs. “Well, we can start for Whiterun tomorrow, then,” he suggests. “And I will continue to think of where Elijah and Niles may have gone.”

Hank, momentarily struck dumb by the sight of Connor _ laughing, _ takes a moment to respond. “Yeah, okay. That sounds like a plan. I - I need to go take care of Sumo, then I’ll head to bed.”

“Of course.” The look Connor gives Hank is - it’s almost _ soft. _ “Thank you for all of your help so far, Hank.”

“Haven’t done much yet,” Hank grunts, heat rising to his cheeks. “Good night, Connor.”

“Good night, Hank.”


	3. Chasing Echoes

While Hank and Dexion sleep, Connor spends his time replenishing his stock of potions. He also prepares some additional potions for Hank, just to be on the safe side. He knows where they’ll have to travel to find the Blood Scroll, and Hank’s not going to be terribly happy about the news, Connor bets. Hopefully some health and stamina potions that Hank didn’t have to buy or make himself will help soften the blow. 

Connor’s waiting in the dining room when Hank wakes just after dawn. Sumo’s head is in Connor’s lap, the great big hound drooling over his pants, but Connor can’t bring himself to care about that at the moment. The Death Hounds weren’t always friendly, and Connor had never met another hound that was anything less than wary around him, much less  _ friendly. _

“He’s taken a liking to you,” Hank grunts, grabbing one of the pastries that Connor had made. 

“So I see,” Connor says, smiling as he pets Sumo. “I’ve always liked dogs,” he adds, tone wistful even to his own ears. “But the hounds at the castle aren’t exactly  _ pets. _ ”

Hank makes a noncommittal noise as he settles into a seat near Connor. “Sounds like  _ nothing  _ at that castle is friendly,” he comments, eyebrow raised. 

“It wasn’t always so bad,” Connor sighs. “Before Elijah disappeared… It was nice enough. But then Amanda took charge after he left, and became  _ obsessed _ with this prophecy. Some of us tried to discourage her, but she wouldn’t be swayed. And when she finally got the Scrolls… Well, we knew we had to act. Niles and I were the only ones able to sneak past Amanda’s guards - we’d been at Castle Kaiberlaife longer than they had. We knew all of the old passageways, the tricky floorboards, every part of that castle. And we’d had centuries to perfect our thieves’ skills.”

“So you stole the Scrolls and came looking for me, you told me that already.”

“Yes. I mentioned that Niles followed Elijah, and…” Connor takes a deep breath, steels himself as he looks up from Sumo to meet Hank’s gaze. “I believe I know where they went.”

Hank blinks. “You don’t sound  _ happy _ about that,” he says slowly, eyes narrowing.

Connor feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “Because they’re in the castle - and we’ll need to find them there.”

Hank blinks again. “ _ What? _ ”

“Elijah was working on some project he refused to discuss with anyone when he disappeared three hundred years ago,” Connor explains. “He had a laboratory in the Castle, and disappeared from there. In order to find him, we’ll need to follow his steps, and that is where we’ll need to start.”

Hank sighs, reaches up with one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Really. And I don’t suppose his laboratory will be  _ easy _ to access?”

“For you? No, but… I can reach it, and if I bring rope with me, I can drop it down for you to climb.”

“And… where exactly  _ is _ this castle again?”

“Off the northern coast of Skyrim,” Connor says. “It’s not on any maps, we made sure of that.”

“Well… You’re  _ sure _ you can reach the laboratory? Usually I have to go crawling through skeever- and spider-infested dungeons to find back entrances to places I can’t reach.”

Connor laughs. “Well, this  _ is _ a vampire castle - and there is a back entrance, if you’d rather risk running into feral vampires, enormous spiders, and rabid Death Hounds?”

Hank’s quiet for a moment. “No, I’d rather climb a rope,” he decides.

“I thought so.”

* * *

They discuss traveling plans for another hour as Hank eats and goes over his equipment. They decide against traveling to Whiterun for the moment; the Sun Scroll will be left here, and they don’t want to hand-deliver another Scroll to Amanda should things go pear-shaped. They debate for some time over whether or not to take Moby and Nyxa - riding  _ would _ be faster, but they have no idea how long they’ll be at the castle, and there’s no way to bring the horses with them. In the end, they decide to hike to Falkreath and take the wagon to Solitude from there. By that same logic, they decide to leave Sumo at Lakeview Manor. Once they’re in Haafingar Hold, they’ll hike to Icewater Jetty, where one of the boats to Castle Kaiberlaife is stashed. 

Dexion is still asleep by the time Connor and Hank are ready to depart, and Connor’s already put the gold and gems he brings for Rayya and her family in the usual safe. Rayya’s wife, Saadya, sees them off as they start down the road to Falkreath. Luck is with them; when they arrive, the wagon is only just getting ready to leave with a cargo of Falkreath’s lumber to take north to Solitude. The wagonmaster, Brent, recognizes Hank and waives their fare, claiming that after everything Hank did for Skyrim, a free ride is the least he can do when they’re already going the same way. 

The ride passes quickly, Connor taking the opportunity to nap in the shade of the logs as Hank and Brent chat amicably in the front of the wagon. They disembark shortly after passing through Dragon’s Bridge, taking the road north and into the mountains. The roads are clear, the air crisp and cold, making their breath fog as they climb up and through a valley, emerging on the other side. From there, Connor leads Hank down a small, well-hidden trail to the coast and then west, following the rocky shore until they reach a small pier. 

Connor considers the rowboat and the angle of the sun. “I doubt that there’ll be any lookouts at this time of day,” he tells Hank, calling up a prismatic bundle of magicka in his hands, larger than usual. “But I’m going to make both us and the boat invisible, just to be safe. We’ll need to row around the castle, to the northeastern shore.”

“I guess I’ll be doing most of the rowing,” Hank says, tone dry.

“Well, I  _ do _ need to concentrate on the spell,” Connor points out, feels the corner of his mouth curl up when Hank gives him a sardonic look. “Unless you’re proficient in illusory magic?”

“Just get in the fucking boat, Connor.”

* * *

It takes half an hour to get to the island. Connor spends the time preparing his invisibility spell, ensuring it will last long enough for them to row out of sight of any potential lookouts. Once they’re in sight of the castle, Connor casts the spell, ignoring Hank’s shocked yelp when they turn invisible. “Don’t drop the oars,” Connor laughs.

“You smug little - warn a guy next time, will you?” Hank grumbles, but they keep moving, so presumably he kept hold of the oars.

Connor directs him around the island, only dropping the invisibility spell once the lookout tower has disappeared around the main castle. “We should be safe now,” he says when Hank looks at him questioningly. “We’re almost to the broken balcony, anyway.”

There is an outcropping of rock for them to tie the boat to, though Hank has trouble lining the boat up properly. “Here,” Connor finally says, more than a little exasperated. He reaches within himself, finds the power that lets him shift to the lord form, and  _ breaks. _

It always feels like being torn apart and piecing himself back together again, shifting this way. Every part of him stretches, cracks and reforms in a new configuration. When it’s over, it always takes him a moment to readjust. There’s an odd look on Hank’s face when Connor glances at him as he bends down to grab the rope. “Hold on to something,” he tells Hank, who immediately grabs the side of the boat.

Smiling to himself, Connor flexes his wings, feels his feet leave the surface of the boat - and when he steps over the edge, he hovers a few inches above the surface of the water. “What the  _ fuck, _ ” Hank splutters behind him as Connor shifts, gliding through the air and towards the rock they intended to tie to. “You can fucking float across the water?”

“Yes,” Connor calls over his shoulder before bending down and tying the rope securely about the rock. “I can’t swim in this form, but I can fly.”

“Weird, considering those wings are basically another pair of arms,” Hank comments as he carefully climbs out of the rowboat, a coil of rope on his shoulder.

“ _ Magic, _ Hank,” Connor reminds him, amused. “ _ You _ supposedly absorb the souls of dragons you slay, and can bend the world to your will just by speaking another language. That’s not any less weird than me being able to float over water. I’d say it’s even more weird.”

“You know what, Connor? Fuck you,” Hank complains, aiming a shove at Connor’s arm. “Let’s focus on why we’re here. How are you planning on getting up to the balcony?”

“Hand me that rope,” Connor says in lieu of a direct answer. Hank does, confusion clear on his expression as Connor tosses it over his head, the rope looping across his chest. He backs up a step, looks up to gauge the distance to the bridge, gathers his power about himself - 

And  _ jumps. _

Connor feels himself split once more, but differently than when he shifts; the world becomes a blur rushing past him as Connor flies upward, his mass and the rope split among several bats. He lands on the edge of the balcony, throws himself forward into a roll as his body reforms. 

“ _ Connor! _ ”

Hank’s voice catches his attention, and Connor quickly gets to his feet, peers over the edge. “I’m alright,” he calls down, squinting against the glare of the sunlight from around the edges of the castle. “I’ll throw the rope down, pull you up.”

Even from this distance, Connor can read the doubt on Hank’s face, but he ignores it for the moment, fashioning a quick stirrup out of the rope and lowering it. “Put your foot in the hole and hold on tight,” he instructs.

Hank grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a threat about what Hank will do if Connor drops him, but does as instructed. There is more grumbling as Connor hauls him up, but Connor ignores it. Once Hank is steady on the bridge, Connor drops the rope and turns to Hank. “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” Hank grunts, stretching. “Alright, I’m assuming that door leads to Elijah’s laboratory?”

“Yes,” Connor says, turning to the door in question. He tries the knob, only to find it locked. Behind him, Hank starts to say something, but Connor grasps the knob with one hand, angles his shoulder to the door, and with one hard knock, he breaks the door open.

“Well. That’s - something.” There’s an odd tone to Hank’s voice, but when Connor looks back at him, Hank’s expression betrays nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Come on, then,” Connor says, shifting back to his regular form and pushing the remains of the door open. “We’ll need to find Elijah’s journal first. He was meticulous about his notes; it will give us a place to start, if nothing else.”

“Yeah, o - kay…” Hank’s voice trails off as he apparently catches sight of the controlled chaos that is Elijah’s lab. “How the  _ fuck  _ are we supposed to find anything in this mess?”

Connor laughs. “Just start digging, but be careful around the alchemical ingredients,” he says by way of answer, leading the way down the steps into the laboratory proper. He can hear Hank grumbling behind him, but he ignores Hank for the moment, focusing instead on one of the nearby bookshelves. Connor loses track of time, lost in the search. He never spent much time here, but Niles did, and there were many times Connor had to drag his brother out in order to feed. 

“Hey, Connor.” 

Connor startles, nearly dropping the book in his hand. “Yes, Hank?”

“You said the guy’s name was Elijah, right? What was his research centered around?” When he looks over, Connor sees that Hank is paging through a slim book.

“He was trying to find a way into the Soul Cairn,” Connor answers, replacing the book in his hands and moving towards Hank. “To make contact with the Ideal Masters.”

“I think he figured it out.” Hank tilts the notebook towards Connor, who blinks when he recognizes the handwriting. 

He takes the notebook from Hank, flipping quickly through the pages. “He did,” he murmurs, glancing up and around the laboratory. “We need purified void salts, soul gem fragments, and finely ground bone meal.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hank asks, sarcasm clear in his tone.

“Yes, that’s all,” Connor says, reaching out to shove at Hank’s shoulder. “Find the soul gem fragments; they should be in that cabinet over there. I’ll get the other two ingredients. It looks like they’ll need to go in that silver bowl at the top of the stairs.”

“Soul gem fragments, right,” Hank mutters, moving towards the cabinet Connor had pointed him towards. He grumbles some more while searching, but Connor tunes him out as he searches for his own ingredients. It doesn’t take long to find them, and then Connor meets Hank by the bowl he’d pointed out. They combine their ingredients, and then Connor consults Elijah’s notebook one more time. 

“Soul gem fragments, purified void salts, finely ground bone meal, and… the blood of a vampire lord.” Connor tucks the book into his pocket, grabbing a knife off of the small table, holding the blade to his palm.

“Whoa, wait, what’re you doing - argh, Jesus, Connor, that’s disgusting!”

“It’s necessary for the ritual, Hank,” Connor says patiently, holding his now-wounded palm over the bowl so that his blood can drip over the rest of the gathered ingredients. 

“Yeah, but that knife’s been sitting there for  _ how _ long?” Hank complains, though Connor notes he doesn’t look away from the bowl.

“Since Elijah left, presumably. Vampires don’t get infections, Hank.” Connor closes his hand into a fist, using a quick burst of restoration magicka to seal the small wound. 

Hank opens his mouth to say something else, only to be interrupted by the sound of trembling stone. He and Connor share a confused glance, but then Connor notices the faint purple glow on Hank’s face. He looks towards the source, and lets out a soft gasp. “ _ Oh. _ ”

Hank follows his gaze. “ _ Damn. _ That’s… actually pretty impressive.”

“He did it,” Connor murmurs. “And Niles must have followed him; they were always close, Niles spent far more time with him than I did.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Hank asks, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

“Hank, wait - “

But Hank’s already started down the steps; he makes it halfway before he stumbles backward, shouting in pain. Connor darts forward, hauls Hank back to the ledge. “What the  _ fuck _ was that?” Hank demands, not shaking Connor’s hands off of him just yet.

“It’s the  _ Soul Cairn, _ Hank,” Connor reminds him. “It’s where soul-trapped souls are held - it draws power from mortal souls for the Ideal Masters.”

“Well, I’m not letting you go in there alone,” Hank argues, expression determined. 

Connor ignores the warmth that suffuses his cheeks at the blatant concern Hank just showed him in favor of glancing towards the portal. “I don’t - “ He draws in a breath, lets it out slowly. “Vampires can go in freely because we aren’t mortal, we’re dead,” he says quietly, thinking out loud. “If  _ you _ were a vampire…”

Hank grimaces. “Do I need to be a vampire? Is there… some way to make me dead and alive at the same time?”

Connor considers that for a long moment. “Possibly.” He glances back at Hank, bites his lower lip in thought. “It’s dangerous, but. I can… partially soul trap you. It’ll make you dead enough for the Soul Cairn to let you in without actually  _ killing _ you, because part of you will already be there.”

Hank hesitates. “That’ll affect me, won’t it?”

“Yes,” Connor admits. “You’ll be weaker, in the Soul Cairn, but not outside of it. While we’re in there, we should be able to find the fragment of your soul and… reunite the two when we get back out.”

Hank’s quiet for a moment, and Connor doesn’t say anything more, just lets him think. “Alright,” he sighs, glancing from the portal back to Connor. “Do it.”

Connor nods, giving Hank a small, reassuring smile. “Here,” he murmurs, reaching into his satchel with one hand to pull out a black soul gem. “This is… going to sting like hell, but I’ll be careful.”

Connor nearly fumbles the soul gem when Hank speaks. “I trust you.”

Connor’s head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks at Hank searchingly. He sees nothing but truth in Hank’s gaze, and the warmth in his cheeks spreads until his entire face feels like he stepped into the sun without a hood. “I - Thank you,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to the soul gem in his hand. His other hand moves, drifts from Hank’s shoulder to rest over the breastplate of his armor. “Take a deep breath. I’ll make this quick.”

Connor has to concentrate on the spell, seeking out the ‘less essential’ parts of Hank’s soul to infuse into the gem without harming Hank. However, he can’t help but glance up occasionally, and the sight of Hank watching him so openly, bathed in the glow of Connor’s magicka, would make Connor’s heart trip over itself in his chest if it still beat. Swallowing hard, Connor forces himself to focus on the task at hand, only looking up again when Hank grunts as Connor’s magicka pulls away part of his soul, tucks it into the gem in his hand. 

“Are you alright, Hank?” Connor asks, quiet; the air feels… tense between them, charged as if Connor were holding a handful of lightning. 

“I - Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Hank seems to give himself a shake before meeting Connor’s gaze again. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” Connor says, laying the soul gem on the table behind them; he doesn’t need to take the actual gem into the Cairn, and he’d rather not have it on him just in case something were to happen while they were in there. “It’s done. You should be able to enter the Cairn now.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?”

* * *

The Soul Cairn is dark and dreary, cold enough that even Connor shivers as they step out of the portal and descend the steps. “Well, this is… depressing,” Hank decides, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. 

“It’s only meant to be a place to hold the power of mortal souls,” Connor says grimly, stepping forward and starting down the path that leads from the stone steps. “Generally speaking, trapping a soul requires the death of the creature or person. Once you’re dead, there’s no real need for comfort, in the minds of the Ideal Masters.”

“You mentioned them before, too,” Hank remembers, keeping pace with Connor. “Who exactly  _ are _ the Ideal Masters?”

“No one knows,” Connor answers, sidestepping a wisp. “All that’s known about them is that they are immensely powerful, draw their power from souls, and created this plane of Oblivion. Necromancers often strike deals with them - power in life in exchange for souls. The Masters are… cunning, however, and will often weigh a deal in their favor.”

Hank snorts. “What all-powerful beings don’t?” he mutters; Connor gets the sense it’s a rhetorical question, so he doesn’t answer.

“Elijah was not exactly a necromancer, but he believed that there was untapped potential in soul gems. He wanted to learn from the Ideal Masters, but…”

“He got outsmarted?” Hank suggests, a wry twist to his mouth.

“Elijah is cunning, but I don’t doubt the Ideal Masters could trap him in a  _ less _ -than-ideal bargain,” Connor concedes. 

Hank snorts; when Connor glances over, he’s grinning. “Nice turn of phrase. So, where exactly are we going?”

“I can feel Niles,” Connor says, focusing back on the path and not on the complicated things the sight of Hank’s smile makes him feel. “If we find him, he’ll likely know where Elijah is, if he isn’t already with Elijah.”

“Oh, great, so I get to meet your family all at once, then,” Hank mutters. “Three vampires against one squishy human, that will be fun.”

Connor smiles, shifting until he can carefully nudge Hank’s shoulder with his own, mindful of the spikes on the shoulders of Hank’s armor. “It would be two vampires against a vampire and a squishy human,” he corrects. “You and I are the ones working together, remember?”

Surprise is easy to read on Hank’s face when he looks at Connor. “Really? You’d stand up against your brother and the guy who bit you for me?”

“Well, yes. I doubt they’d attack you, but unless  _ you _ strike out first, I don’t see a reason why I  _ wouldn’t _ protect you.” Connor doesn’t look at Hank as he speaks, grateful for the dark atmosphere that hides the light flush to his cheeks. 

“Well… huh.” Hank doesn’t look at Connor either, and the two of them lapse into silence as they pass through the wall that appears to bisect the Soul Cairn. The silence lasts until they reach the coliseum that had been looming in the distance, when Hank lets out a low whistle. “ _ Damn. _ That’s an impressive magicka wall.”

“It is,” Connor muses. “Whatever - or whoever - the Ideal Masters has trapped behind it must be quite strong.”

“Or they consider them quite a threat,” Hank agrees. 

“Or that.” Connor pauses, concentrates for a moment, and then makes a face. “Niles is close by.”

“Good,” Hank murmurs, casting a critical eye over the dark landscape around them. “The sooner we find him, the sooner we get the Scroll and can get out of here.”

Connor hums absently, focusing more on the tug in his chest than his surroundings for the moment. “This way,” he says, taking them down a fork in the path, towards the western wall of the coliseum. “Stay behind me for now, until we find Niles. It would be safer if he sees me first.”

“Alright,” Hank says, quiet, as he shifts, pauses so that Connor draws ahead of him on the path. Connor can hear his steps on the path behind him, but he feels  _ safe _ with Hank at his back.

And that’s food for thought - for another time. Connor rounds a bend in the path that leads to a set of steps, and as he climbs them, the tension in his chest ratchets higher and higher until he catches sight of the man standing beside the magicka wall. 

“Connor,” he calls. The small smile on his face widens as Connor approaches. “I see you brought company.”

“Yes, I did, but he’s not dinner company,” Connor returns, grinning as he reaches out to pull Niles into a hug. “I see  _ you _ made it here safely.”

“I did,” Niles agrees. “And I found Elijah.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Yes, Connor, I am.”

Connor whirls at the sound of Elijah’s voice, stilling at the sight of Elijah just as Connor had remembered - only distorted by the magicka wall. It takes only a moment to piece together what must have happened. “You tried to make a deal with the Ideal Masters.”

Elijah laughs. “As sharp as ever, I see,” he hums. “Yes, I did. As you can see, I came out with the short end of the stick.” His gaze shifts from Connor to Hank, and one eyebrow rises. “And who is this?”

“I’m Hank Anderson,” Hank answers, stepping up beside Connor. “Connor enlisted my help to stop Amanda.”

“He’s the Dragonborn,” Connor adds. 

“The one who defeated Alduin?” Niles asks, tone sharp.

Hank inclines his head, meeting Niles’s gaze evenly. “The same.”

Niles hums thoughtfully before turning to Connor. “I assume you need the Scroll I brought with me?”

“Yes,” Connor answers. “We found a Moth Priest to read the Scroll I had, but we need yours and another one to read the rest of the prophecy in order to figure out how we can stop Amanda from fulfilling it.”

“You could always just kill her,” Niles points out.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Yes, we could, but then someone would take her place,” he counters. “Someone else would want to blot out the sun if she failed, and would see us as a challenge to be conquered. Better that we find out how to fulfill this prophecy so we can stop it from ever happening.” 

Niles doesn’t seem convinced, but he sighs. “Well, I can’t - and wouldn’t, if I could - stop you two. I know how you get when an idea gets into your head, Connor. But I’ve already promised Elijah that I would help him find a way from here.”

“Of course. But you still have the Scroll?”

“I do.” Niles turns and beckons for Connor to follow him across the landing to a nearby chest, from which he pulls the Scroll. “Here you are, brother.”

“Thank you, Niles,” Connor says, sincere. He pulls Niles into another hug before he steps back, tucking the Scroll away before he returns to Hank’s side. “We shouldn’t linger here; we still need to find the other fragment of your soul,” he reminds Hank.

“You soul-trapped him?” Elijah’s expression is surprised, one eyebrow raised.

“Partially,” Connor corrects.

Elijah hums, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Well, I am glad to see that I made good choices in picking you and your brother to turn all those centuries ago.”

* * *

Hank and Connor make their goodbyes quickly after that. Tracking down Hank’s soul fragment is easy enough, requiring only a small detour before they return to the portal, Scroll and soul fragment in hand. Once they pass back through the portal, Hank gives an exaggerated shudder. “That was worse than traveling to Sovngarde,” he mutters. 

Connor laughs. “Perhaps, but you survived. Here, hand me the soul fragment, I need to reverse the trap.”

Watching the light from his magicka play across Hank’s face, wind around Hank and draw his soul together again, Connor can’t help but think, guiltily, that he doesn’t quite want this quest to end just yet.


	4. Unseen Visions

It is just as easy to leave Castle Kaiberlaife as it had been to get inside, and soon Connor and Hank are once again back in Haafingar Hold. From there, they take the wagon to Whiterun Stables. In Whiterun, Connor makes a stop to purchase some more alchemical supplies while Hank retrieves the Dragon Scroll from Jorrvaskr. He leaves Connor at Arcadia’s Cauldron, continuing up the steps and nodding in greeting to the citizens of Whiterun he passes on his way to the Companions’ Hall. 

“Hank!” Ben calls as soon as he shoves open the door. “Didn’t expect to see you around here so soon. Where’s the bloodsucker who went after you?”

“Picking up some stuff from Arcadia,” Hank calls back, doing his best to ignore the rumbling in his chest at the casual way that Ben called Connor a ‘bloodsucker.’ He doesn’t have any reason to be so upset over that, considering he’d called vampires that and worse ever since his wife was attacked. 

“So, what’re you doing here, then?” Ben had gotten up and is following Hank down into the living quarters. 

“Picking up some stuff of my own,” Hank answers, tone short. “Bugger off, Ben.”

“Wow, what crawled up your ass?” Gavin drawls before Ben has a chance to reply.

“Reed, I’m in even less of a mood to deal with you than I am to deal with anyone else asking me questions. I’m here to pick something up and then I’m going to meet up with Connor so we can keep working on the quest he hired us for.” Hank keeps moving determinedly for his room, ignoring Gavin as best he can. 

“Oh yeah, how’s that going? Jeffrey referred him to you because he insinuated the fate of the world was at stake, and you’ve done that once already, so…”

“It’s going,” Hank says flatly. He takes great pleasure in shutting the door to his quarters directly in Gavin’s face and the spluttering it results in. He takes a moment to collect himself, let the racing of his heart calm into something that doesn’t make his skin itch with the urge to split and  _ shift. _

“Damned fucking wolf blood,” he mutters to himself as he pushes off and away from the door, heading for the trick stone in the opposite wall. It’s the work of a moment to pull it away and reveal the spot where Hank had tucked away several of the treasures he had come across in his quest to defeat Alduin. Pushing aside the  _ Oghma Infinium  _ \- and the horror at the memory of Hermaeus Mora’s insistence that Hank become his  _ champion  _ \- Hank reaches for the gleaming gold of the Dragon Scroll’s casing. The tips of his fingers tingle when he picks up the Scroll.

Hank tucks the Scroll into his pack before leaving his room again. Gavin has apparently decided to leave him alone, which Hank is grateful for. He starts toward the stairs back to the main hall, only to pause when he passes the opening to Jeffrey’s quarters and the man himself calls out to him. “Hank! Gavin told me you were stopping by. Do you have a moment?”

Hank glances down the hall for a moment before turning back to Jeffrey. “Yeah, I can spare a moment,” he decides, stepping into Jeffrey’s quarters and sitting in the chair he indicates. “What did you need?”

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Connor,” Jeffrey says pleasantly. “He seemed rather convinced that this mission of his was of utmost importance.”

“It was,” Hank tells him. “Vampires trying to permanently block out the sun.”

Jeffrey blinks, frowns. “Isn’t  _ he _ a vampire, though?”

Hank snorts, remembering the times he’s seen Connor shift into that other form of his, the one that makes Hank’s blood heat and the wolf beneath his skin growl. “Yeah, he’s a vampire. Told me that he was against the plan because it would draw too much attention to vampires, though - and he’s not wrong.”

“They’d be hunted to extinction,” Jeffrey agrees. “Well. I can’t say as I particularly  _ like _ the idea of helping a vampire, but he seemed like one of the better ones.”

“He is,” Hank agrees. “You learn a lot about people when you travel and fight with them, and… Well, everything I’ve learned about Connor tells me that he’s a good man.”

Jeffrey raises an eyebrow. “And the wolf?”

“There were some… misgivings,” Hank says carefully. “But the more we traveled together, the more it liked him.”

“And does  _ he _ know about the wolf?”

“I don’t know,” Hank says after a moment. “I haven’t had to shift in front of him yet, and if he has any idea, then he hasn’t said anything.”

Jeffrey hums thoughtfully. “Well, be careful, Hank. Vampires can be…  _ unpredictable _ about wolves.”

“I’ll be careful, Jeffrey,” Hank promises, unable to help the small smile at his oldest friend’s concern. 

“Good. Now get out there and save the world again.”

* * *

They meet back at the stables, confirming that they have everything before they pay the wagon driver to take them back to Falkreath. From there, it’s a short hike back to Lakeview Manor. Rayya and Sumo meet them in the entryway, and Hank immediately bends over to pet Sumo, who bounds directly for him. When he glances up, Hank can tell immediately from Rayya’s expression that something’s wrong. 

Connor notices it as well, going still in a way that has Hank’s hackles rising, instinctively searching for a threat. “What’s happened?” Connor asks, voice sharp. 

“It’s Dexion,” Rayya answers; she sounds… almost  _ regretful. _

“Is he alright?” Hank demands, straightening. The wolf under his skin is still anxious, pacing as Hank tries to figure out what’s wrong.

“For the most part, yes.” Rayya turns away, leads the way back into the main house. “But - There was a complication from reading the Scroll.”

Dexion is sitting by the fireplace, and at first Hank doesn’t see what’s different. He spots it the moment that Connor does, drawing in a sharp breath. There’s a blindfold across Dexion’s eyes, and when he turns to look at Hank and Connor, his covered gaze seems to focus somewhere over their heads. “Ah, you’re back.”

“We are,” Connor says, stepping forward until he’s able to take the chair opposite Dexion. “We found the other Scrolls.”

“ _ Ah, _ ” Dexion sighs. “I wish I could be of further assistance, but…” His mouth twitches into something self-deprecating. “In my haste to read the first Elder Scroll, I failed to adequately protect myself. I was lucky to lose only my sight.”

Connor, when Hank glances at him, looks  _ guilty. _ “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to recover, and when you want to move on, Rayya will help you arrange transportation.”

“Thank you,” Dexion says, clearly surprised by the offer. “I appreciate it, but I would like to stay until your quest has been completed.”

Connor shares a look with Hank, who speaks. “If you can’t see to read the Scrolls, however… I was only able to use the Dragon Scroll at the time rift at the Throat of the World. I don’t think we could do that again.”

“You won’t need to,” Dexion says confidently. “There is a ritual that Moth Priests used to read the Scrolls long ago, involving Ancestor Moths. Through this ritual, they taught us how to read the Scrolls.”

Hank’s brow furrows. “How can  _ moths _ read anything?” he asks skeptically. 

“These particular moths have a… unique ability. They resonate with the Scrolls, though we’ve never really understood the  _ why _ or  _ how _ of it. Through this resonance, however, the moths can allow someone in a large enough crowd of them to read the Scrolls without danger to themselves.”

“How can we do that?” Connor asks, sitting forward, expression intent. “Time is of the essence here, the sooner we read the Scrolls and find out the rest of the prophecy, the sooner we can stop Amanda.”

“We keep records of the glades where the Ancestor Moths can be found,” Dexion starts. “There is actually one here in Falkreath. In the Glade, you’ll find an altar with a draw knife. You’ll need to use this knife to take some bark from one of the trees.”

“What will the bark do?”

“It’s not the bark, but the sap beneath it,” Dexion explains. “The moths are drawn to it. Smear it along your arms, and they’ll follow you when you get close and they smell it. Once you have enough gathered around you, you’ll see the way that their resonance, when multiplied by so many of them so closely together, affects our reality. When that happens, you can pull out the Scrolls and read them.”

“Well, at least we don’t have to go back to the other end of Skyrim this time,” Hank sighs. 

“And we can ride there instead of hiking,” Connor points out, grinning. 

“Thank the Divines,” Hank mutters, ignoring the way his heart trips over itself when Connor laughs. It takes him longer than it should to find his voice again. “We, uh - we should get going as soon as we can.”

“We should,” Connor agrees. “I’ll speak with Rayya and Saadya about supplies if you’ll go get the horses ready?”

Hank throws out a lazy salute. “Will do, your lordship.”

“ _ Hank. _ ”

Laughing, Hank takes his leave, Sumo following at his heels. Sumo sticks close to Hank as he gets the horses ready, leaving him only briefly to greet Connor when he emerges from the house, customary hood in place to shield him from the morning sun. “Someone doesn’t like being left behind,” Connor observes, tone fond as he ruffles Sumo’s ears. 

“Never has,” Hank grunts, tightening Moby’s girth. “Nyxa seemed a bit miffed that she got left behind; tried to bite me when I was putting the saddle on.”

Connor laughs - Hank’s heart does the thing again - and he moves towards Nyxa, scratching under her mane. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs; were Hank’s ears not so good, he wouldn’t be able to hear the sweet words the vampire croons to his horse. Hank keeps his attention firmly on his own horse, finishing with the tack and then rechecking it when Connor is still preoccupied with Nyxa. 

Eventually, however, Hank has to clear his throat. “So, we planning to get going  _ before _ the noon meal, or - ?”

Connor jumps, and when he looks at Hank, he could swear Connor would be  _ blushing _ if he were human. He holds Hank’s gaze for only a moment before he looks away, back to Nyxa. “Of course. Let’s get going.”

Hank thinks, as he mounts Moby and Connor swings himself onto Nyxa’s back, that maybe he’s getting himself in over his head.

* * *

The ride to the Ancestor Glade that Dexion directs them to is uneventful. They get ambushed by bandits at one point, but between the two of them and Sumo, they’re dispatched quickly. Hank finds himself grateful for the horses as they turn off of the road and onto a trail that winds through the forest before starting to climb the mountain using the trails that mountain goats and deer used.

By the time they reach the entrance to the Glade, the horses are glad to stop. Sumo’s panting, tongue lolling, and Hank half-feels like shifting just so he can copy Sumo in an attempt to cool down. Even Connor’s looking a little weary around the edges, and the patches of skin that Hank can see are red, inflamed. Irrationally, he wants to herd Connor into the cave as quickly as possible, but he settles for leading by example, whistling for Sumo and heading into the cave. Connor does follow, and Hank pretends to ignore the soft sigh of relief he hears as Connor gets out of the sunlight. 

“Alright, this looks… pretty damn small, there must be another passage at the back,” Hank says, casting a critical eye over the interior of the cave. 

“I agree,” Connor hums, footsteps drawing closer. “Let’s get started, then.”

They check the lower passage first, but that’s a definitive dead end. Once they inspect the ledges on the other side of the log crossing the lower passage, however, they see a crack in the wall that seems… off. Connor steps up to it first, only to find that it’s not a  _ crack _ in the  _ wall, _ it’s a  _ bend _ in the  _ path. _ Connor follows it, Hank staying close to him as they walk through a short, cramped tunnel in the rock. 

“ _ Oh. _ ”

Hank nearly runs into Connor’s back when the vampire pauses, but the sheer  _ awe _ in that one, quiet word forestalls any reprimand. Instead, Hank puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder, nudges him forward so that Hank and Sumo can move forward as well.

Once they’re in the Glade proper, Hank can’t help the low whistle he lets out. “ _ Damn, _ ” he murmurs, taking in the sight before them. 

Sunlight filters through several holes in the ceiling of the cavern, bathing the lush greenery within in soft rays of light. The air is cool, but not cold, and the gentle draft carries the scent of something…  _ primal _ with it. Hank’s struck with the sense that this is a place that was sacred long before Ysgramor came to Skyrim. It puts the beast inside of him at ease in a way Hank’s never felt it before. 

“This is… incredible,” Connor breathes. “In all my years, I’ve never seen a place like this.”

Hank makes the mistake of glancing at Connor, then. The look on his face, awed and soft, makes him look young, far younger than Hank knows he must be. It makes Hank pause, makes him think, makes him wonder,  _ What if… _

Hank shakes his head, a quick, jarring motion meant to clear his head without drawing attention to himself. “Yeah,” he says, gruff. “It sure is something. Come on, kid; we’ve got a knife to find and some bark to gather.”

“Hank, how many times must I remind you that I’m literal  _ centuries _ older than you?” Connor asks, sounding vaguely exasperated, but he starts moving nonetheless.

“A few more times, probably,” Hank laughs, following Connor down the path. He can see some of the moths that Dexion had spoke of flitting about the bushes lining the path. “Maybe it’ll stick if you say it enough times.”

“I could always try to literally beat it into your thick skull,” Connor says sweetly, tossing a  _ look _ over his shoulder that makes Hank stumble. Connor’s eyes light up, but before he can say anything Sumo barks and darts by, knocking into Connor on his way past, chasing some of the moths that had flown too close to his nose. Connor wobbles with a shout, and Hank, reacting off of instinct, darts forward a step and wraps an arm around Connor’s waist, pulling him close as Hank braces himself, steadies them both.

“You alright?” he asks, glancing down at Connor, who’s looking at him with wide eyes, one hand on Hank’s hip, the other braced against his chest. 

It takes Connor an almost worryingly long moment to answer. “Yes!” he says, too loud, He pushes against Hank, who loosens his grip, ignoring the urge to pull Connor in closer instead. “Yes, thank you, Hank. I’m fine.”

Hank feels one eyebrow rising despite himself. “Okay,” he says slowly. He nods down the path. “We should keep going.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Connor mutters, giving Hank one more glance before he turns and continues down the path.

At the bottom of the slope, the path widens, winding around several small pools of water and leading to a small mound in the middle of the cavern. On the mound, there is an altar and a tree, just as Dexion had said that there would be. There appears to be a few rays of light filtering through the cavern to artfully illuminate both tree and altar, and Hank can’t help but snort, remembering what they’re supposed to do with what’s  _ on _ the altar. 

“So,” he drawls, following Connor up to the altar. “Which of us is going to rub sap all over ourselves?”

Connor laughs quietly, drawing up next to Hank by the altar. “I think it might be best if I did it,” he muses. “If something goes wrong, vampires are… slightly more durable than your kind.”

Hank glances at Connor sharply, but he gives no indication that he means anything other than ‘human’ by ‘your kind.’ Hank turns his attention back to the draw knife, glancing around at the moths flitting through the cavern, and sighs. “You’re probably right,” he concedes, reluctant. “Alright. Dexion said you’ll need that knife, so.”

“Yes, Hank, I was there when he told us how to do this ritual,” Connor says, amusement clear in his tone. He steps past Hank, reaching towards the altar and taking the draw knife. Connor carries it over to the tree, studying it carefully before he carefully takes a slice of the bark from the main trunk. It comes away easily beneath the draw knife, and Hank can see a few thin strings of sap connecting the bark to the tree as Connor pulls it away.

Connor replaces the draw knife on the altar, holding the bark carefully. He considers himself, then glances at Hank. “Where do you think I should apply the sap?”

Hank hums, a thoughtful noise. “Maybe on your arms,” he suggests. “Over the armor. It won’t be on your hands and get all over anything else you might touch.”

“Good point.” Connor lifts the bark, turning it sap-side down against his arm. He runs it over his arm in one smooth motion, switching the bark to this other hand and doing the same on his other arm. 

“ _ Whew, _ that shit’s strong,” Hank mutters, nose wrinkling as he catches a whiff of the almost offensively sweet smell of the sap. “I can see why the moths would be attracted to it.”

“Agreed.” Connor’s own nose is wrinkled, and Hank shoves down the thought that it actually looks  _ cute. _ “Well, the sooner I collect them, the sooner I can wipe this sap off of myself.” He starts down the other side of the mound, walking towards a bush with several moths flying around it. As he gets closer, Hank can see the moths slowing down, the pattern of their flight changing. By the time Connor is standing next to the bush, the moths have abandoned it in favor of him.

Connor actually looks surprised by this development, and reaches out to touch one of the moths, which flits away from his hand. He glances around, then frowns. “I don’t think this is enough to read the Scrolls,” he calls to Hank. “I’m going to see if I can gather some more moths.”

“Alright,” Hank calls back, watching Sumo splash in one of the ponds by the tree. “I’ll just… stay over here while you do that.” He stays by the tree, watching as Connor moves about the cavern, from bush to bush, gathering more moths with each one he passes. Eventually, though, Hank notices something… different about how Connor looks. “Hey, uh, Connor?”

“Yes, Hank?” Connor calls, rounding a bend in the path he’s been following between the bushes, turning to face Hank. The move takes him from a patch of light into another patch of shadows, and Hank -

Hank suddenly can’t breathe, much less  _ speak, _ struck dumb by the sight of the vampire stepping from the light into shadow, but still lit up by the moths flying around him. Even from this distance, Hank can hear the resonance of the Ancestor Moths, and it sounds like the perfectly complement to his heartbeat. The moths seem to bring a softer version of the daylight with them, wrapping it around Connor like a cloak. It softens his features, makes him look  _ ethereal, _ and Hank feels the realization like a punch to his gut.

He’s attracted to Connor. Not even just physically, he realizes, a second hit to go with the first. He  _ likes _ Connor - his attitude, his determination to do the right thing, even though it means going against Amanda and his own kind…

“Are you alright, Hank?”

Hank startles at the sound of Connor’s voice. “What? Oh, uh, yeah. It’s just - you’re glowing. The moths! The… moths are glowing.”  _ Smooth, Anderson. _

“Huh,” Connor says thoughtfully, looking down at himself. “You’re right. And I can hear them. I think I have enough to read the Scrolls, now; my vision has gone… strange.” 

Connor comes back to the tree, where there’s a large beam of light. “Can you hand me my pack, Hank?”

Hank obliges, watching Connor dig through the pack for the two Elder Scrolls. He pulls out the Blood Scroll first; Hank can see Connor brace himself as he slowly unrolls it. His posture relaxes after a moment, though, and he hums a thoughtful noise, kneeling on the ground so that he can lay the Blood Scroll down and layer the Dragon Scroll over top of it. He frowns in concentration, and Hank has to push away a thought of - of all things -  _ kissing _ the frown away, kissing Connor until he’s smiling.

Fuck, this is worse than Hank was with Laelette.

“I’ve got it!”

Connor’s voice startles Hank out of his thoughts, and he blinks, forcing himself to focus on the  _ reality _ of the here and now. “Got what?”

“The location of the Bow,” Connor says, sounding satisfied with himself. The glow from the moths has faded, and the speed of their wings has noticeably slowed; apparently, lending their ‘vision’ or whatever to Connor took a toll on them as well. They’re starting to abandon Connor, flying slowly towards the bushes that surround them. “I know where we need to go.”

“Perfect, let’s head - “

Hank’s cut off by the sick sound of an arrow burying itself in Connor’s shoulder. Connor shouts in pain, staggering, and Hank sees red. He whirls in the direction that the arrow had come from, snarling when he recognizes Castle Kaiberlaife’s colors on the vampires at the top of the path. There are hounds racing down the path towards them, Sumo snarling as he races to meet them, and Hank doesn’t think. Connor’s hurt, swearing, a slow trickle of something black dripping from the wound, and Hank won’t stand for it.

The wolf bursts from his skin, enveloping him and his armor. The world shifts, his perspective changing, and Hank charges forward, lost to the bloodlust, to the desire to protect his - to protect. Vaguely, Hank recognizes the looks of shock and fear on his prey, hears them shout words he doesn’t bother listening to as he charges forward, barreling into them in a flurry of teeth and claws.

The fight is over almost too quickly; Hank doesn’t feel satisfied, even with his claws and teeth and fur covered in the black substance that passes for blood in vampires. It takes him a moment to feel in control enough to shift back, the wolf falling away from him in pieces until he’s back in  _ his _ body, drawing in a deep lungfuls of air in an effort to calm himself before he returns to Connor.

When Hank does finally turn around, he almost jumps off of the path and into the bushes below. “ _ Fuck! _ Divines above, Connor, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Why?” Connor asks, expression shrewd and  _ far too close, holy Talos. _ “I might startle you into  _ shifting? _ ”

Hank freezes, then swallows, shifting guiltily on his feet. “Maybe? I - I wouldn’t lash out at you. But I might shift, and that can be… awkward. Depending on where we are at the time.”

Connor hums. “Well, let’s get on the trail, and you can enlighten me as to just  _ how _ awkward it can get to be a  _ werewolf _ in Skyrim traveling with a vampire,” he suggests, tone pointed.

Hank has to resist the urge to hunch his shoulders, curl into himself like a scolded child. “Okay,” he says, barely more than a mumble.

Connor doesn’t make a move, however; he stays where he is, studying Hank for another moment before he sighs. “I’m not mad,” he says, the tone of his voice encouraging Hank to look up and meet his gaze. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to feel the need to hide, and how easily it becomes a habit to do so.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Hank sighs, heat crawling up the back of his neck. “Sorry, I know you would’ve been okay, it’s just… Well, like you said. It’s habit.”

Connor’s smile softens into something understanding, something that makes Hank’s heart flip in his chest. “Let’s get going,” he says again, hefting his pack onto his uninjured shoulder. “We can talk on the road; we don’t want to get ambushed again.”


	5. Touching the Sky

“So. Werewolf, hm?”

Connor watches Hank carefully as they ride, taking in the way Hank winces, almost as though he’s bracing himself. “Yeah. Werewolf.”

Connor tilts his head. “How did that happen? Were you attacked while you were out on the road, or - ?”

Hank laughs quietly. “No, I chose it,” he says, glancing at Connor, obviously watching for his reaction.

Connor has to admit he’s surprised. “You chose it?” he repeats, blinking.

“Yeah. The, uh, inner circle of the Companions are all werewolves,” Hank tells him. “I turned the change down the first time they offered it to me. I’m the fucking Dragonborn, I’ve already got enough beastblood in me. But they were all running circles around me out in the field. I held my own, contributed, but… I was getting older.”

“So you took the change to keep up,” Connor surmises. “That’s permanent, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” Hank draws in a deep breath, blows it out slowly. “There’s a myth, about the Glenmoril Coven. They allied themselves with Hircine, supposedly. They were said to be able to cure lycanthropy, but the last anyone knew about them, they’d been wiped out.”

Connor makes a sympathetic noise, guiding Nyxa around a downed tree. “Well, that does explain why your blood smelled so different from other humans.”

“That’s creepy as hell, Connor,” Hank says flatly. The tone of his voice makes Connor laugh.

“It’s part of being a vampire, Hank,” he chuckles. “Blood smells different now. There’s… _more_ to what I can sense from it than most other creatures or humans. Surely you’ve noticed something similar?”

The way Hank’s gaze drops is all the answer Connor needs. 

* * *

“I really don’t like this cave.”

“I don’t either, but this is where the Scrolls said we could find the Bow,” Connor reminds Hank as they pass through yet another Falmer encampment. They’d cleared out several so far, with no end of the cave in sight yet. Connor is starting to get antsy, but when he and Hank round the next corner, they both stop at the sight that awaits them. 

“Connor. You’re seeing this, right?”

“If by ‘this,’ you mean the very pale elf standing in the middle of the cavern, then yes.”

“I can hear you both, you know,” the elf calls; he sounds distinctly amused, though, and after a moment’s hesitation where he and Hank share a glance, Connor straightens out of his crouch and takes a step forward. 

“Who are you?” he calls back. “We weren’t expecting to find anyone back here.”

“No, I’m sure you weren’t.” The elf turns until he’s facing Connor and Hank more fully. Connor frowns thoughtfully; he’s never seen an elf quite like this before. He’s too pale to be an Altmer, too tall to be a Dunmer or Bosmer. "You were expecting to find Auriel's Bow."

"Guess that's all anyone comes back here for," Hank says dryly. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Ah, of course, my apologies. I am Knight-Paladin Gelebor, and this is the Great Chantry of Auri-El." Gelebor gestures to the cavern surrounding them, to the ruined, elaborate architecture. "I admit, it has seen better days."

"Auri-El? Who is that?" Connor asks, curious; he's not heard of this particular god before. 

"Auriel, Auri-El, Alkosh, Akatosh... so many different names for the sovereign of the snow elves," Gelebor hums. 

"So you're one of the Falmer? You don't look like any of the others I've come across," Hank says, looking at Gelebor mistrustfully. 

"I prefer Snow Elf," Gelebor corrects him. "The term Falmer carries a certain _connotation,_ as you've pointed out. Those you call the Falmer, I call the Betrayed."

"The ones who took the dwarves' offer of sanctuary in exchange for being blinded," Connor realizes. 

"Yes." Gelebor's tone and expression are somber. "Here at the Chantry, we are quite isolated, and always have been. By the time we heard of the offer, it was too late for us to offer any guidance." The Snow Elf sighs, glancing at the shrine to his left before he visibly squares his shoulders and turns back to Connor and Hank. "But that is history long past. If you wish to claim the Bow, then I offer you only one way forward."

"And what way might that be?" Connor bites back a reprimand at the clear suspicion in Hank's voice; he has plenty of reason to be suspicious. 

"I will allow you to claim Auriel's Bow if - and only if - you manage to kill Archcurate Vyrthur. My brother."

* * *

“Fucking _finally,_” Hank groans, leading the way up the slope and further into the misty sunlight. Connor tugs his hood up over his head, mostly to protect his sensitive skin from the sun, but also to hide the soft, fond smile he can feel curving his lips. Hank had had to rely more upon his sense of smell and Connor’s better eyesight in that extremely long and _extraordinarily_ dark cave, and it had clearly rankled. 

“I enjoy the dark, but even that was a bit excessive,” Connor agrees, laughing as he steps around a rock in the path. “I wonder where we are now?”

“Not in Skyrim, that’s for sure,” Hank calls back. “I think - “ Hank freezes as he crests the hill. “_Whoa._”

“Hank?” Connor says, worried; he picks up his pace, reaching Hank’s side quickly. He reaches out, lays a hand on Hank’s shoulder. His chest tightens in a not-entirely-uncomfortable way when he catches sight of the awed look on Hank’s face. He ignores it for the moment. “What’s the matter?”

Hank doesn’t answer with words; his own hand comes up, fingers resting against Connor’s chin before pushing gently. He guides Connor’s gaze over the crest of the hill, chuckling when Connor breathes out a soft exclamation of wonder. 

The valley below them is - it’s _breathtaking._ Connor doesn’t have the words to describe it. The early day fog softens the vista before them, makes it appear as though it’s something from a dream.Connor’s never seen a valley like this before - he doesn’t recognize most of the fauna, either. Thinking of the maps he’s studied over the centuries, Connor knows this place has never been recorded before. The space to the northeast of the area of Skyrim they’d left behind was always marked on maps as being nothing but mountains, certainly no valleys this large. 

“I had no idea this place existed,” Connor breathes. “Every map I’ve seen…”

“Looks like the only entrance is the cave we just came through,” Hank observes. He and Connor stand in silence for another few moments before Hank gives himself a shake and Connor, with a start, realizes that his hand is still on Hank’s shoulder. He snatches it back quickly as Hank speaks. “C’mon, we need to get started following that Initiate’s Path if we want to get the Bow anytime soon.”

“Right, of course,” Connor says, fingers flexing as he rubs his wrist. “Let’s go, then.”

“Connor?”

Connor freezes at the tone of Hank’s voice, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“You see that island over there, with the stone wall on it? Run for it, _now._”

Connor doesn’t hesitate, doing as Hank orders. He sprints across the ice of the frozen lake, and as he runs, he can hear it cracking under the pressure of something _much_ heavier than him. His feet have barely touched solid ground before the ice gives way, exploding in a shower of frozen shards and icy water. Connor doesn’t have a chance to fully register what he’s seeing before there’s another ear-splitting _crack_ and another section of ice explodes off of the surface of the lake.

When Connor straightens from the instinctive self-protective crouch, he’s struck breathless by the sight of not one, but _two_ dragons swooping through the air over the lake. He’s never seen one up close - he’d stayed away from the majority of the fighting while Alduin was still alive. His skin tightens with the urge to shift, but Connor throttles it back for the moment, looking for Hank.

The sound of furious cursing and a sword being unsheathed draws his attention, and Connor’s heart would be in his throat if he were mortal at the sight of Hank standing alone against two dragons. Connor watches as his stance shifts, shield raised in front of him as his shoulders square.

Three words ring across the surface of the lake, echoing off of the mountains to the North: “**_Mul Qah Diiv!_**”

The words rock through Connor’s body, even at this distance. He can see a surge of - _something,_ something that doesn’t look quite like magicka but something else, something more _primal_, surrounding Hank’s body. It swirls around him, blown by an invisible wind, before it settles about Hank, covering him briefly in the visage of a dragon. 

A roar catches Connor’s attention, and from this distance he can do nothing but scream, “_Hank!_” in warning.

Hank, however, seems to have this fight well in hand. As the dragon dives, Hank throws himself sideways into a roll, springing back up in time to take a slash at the dragon’s leg as it passes by him. A screech tells Connor that his sword hit its mark, and shakes Connor from his stunned stupor.

He calls up a ball of magicka, shaping it quickly into a bow and quiver full of arrows. At this distance, any spells would be all but useless, but conjured arrows bite just as hard - if not harder - as physical arrows at any of the same distances. Connor takes aim, trying his best to help bring one of the beasts down so that Hank can focus on it. The plan works - until Connor sees the other dragon singing over in the sky, mouth opened in a snarl and the beginnings of another Shout on its tongue as it heads directly for Hank, who's just struck the killing blow on the first dragon. 

Connor shifts before he consciously thinks about it, the sun burning against his sensitive skin, but he needs the power, the speed offered. If he can just reach Hank in time - 

Connor slams into Hank a moment before the dragon unleashes its Shout, flame licking through the space that Hank was just in - and that Connor currently occupies. Connor screams in pain, curling around himself as the shift falls away, taking the burned skin with it and granting him only a small measure of relief. There's a sound like a furious roar behind Connor, too animalistic to be human, and through squinted eyes, Connor can barely make out a large shape launching itself at the dragon that's landed on the ice several yards away. 

A vicious fight breaks out, the sounds of two large predators battling echoing off of the mountain, but Connor can't focus on that, can only focus on breathing through the pain, shallow breaths that burn almost as badly as the fire had. 

From the direction of the fight comes a triumphant howl. Too canine to be a dragon, Connor can only assume it's Hank. He attempts to lift his head when he hears footsteps approaching, the sound of shifting skin, but can't manage that, his skin tight and blistered. 

"Connor? _Connor! _Hang on, kid, hang on, I've got you." Hank's voice is a quiet murmur, shushing Connor when he whimpers as Hank carefully picks him up, carrying Connor away from the ice and the sun to lay him down in the shade cast by the wall Hank had originally told Connor to run towards. "Divines above, you look… You look like you should be dead, Connor."

Connor manages a week chuckle at that. "If I hadn't been shifted, I would be," he murmurs, curling in on himself. "_Fuck,_ this hurts."

"Can I - Your options, do you have anything to heal yourself?" Hank sounds desperate, and Connor can hear him rustling through his pack. 

"No." With great effort, Connor opens his eyes, reaches out to lay a hand on Hank's arm. "No potions. Too - Too much damage."

"What, then?" Hank asks, turning his head to look at Connor as he straightens. "What do you need? I'm not going to just let you die - "

"Blood." The word is quiet, barely more than a whisper as it passes Connor's lips. 

"Don't you have potions - "

"From a living creature, not preserved." Connor's voice is hoarse, rasping against his throat as he speaks. "I need to _feed,_ Hank."

Connor can hear Hank swearing, but the sound drifts further away before coming closer again. Connor can’t focus on it, can’t focus past the stiffness of his skin, the heat trapped beneath it. He can’t focus on anything else, can barely feel the ground he’s lying on -

There’s a bright burst of blood _right_ beneath his face. Connor inhales greedily, trying to shift closer. He’s vaguely aware of a voice murmuring nearby, a gentle hand on the back of his head, but he’s too focused on the fresh blood right in front of him. He latches on greedily, drinking deep. The blood is flowing freely, no need for him to bite down, and with every swallow Connor can feel his blistered skin healing, the tightness easing until it’s barely noticeable. Every part of him _relaxes_ with the influx of fresh blood, until he feels only slightly battered.

It’s only when he finally pulls back that he realizes that it’s _Hank’s_ blood on his lips and his tongue. Hank’s arm is in front of him, his armor missing, laying on the ground beside them. There’s a long cut on Hank’s arm, still sluggishly weeping blood, and when Connor blinks and looks up, he realizes that Hank’s other arm is wrapped around him, braced against his back. 

“Ow,” Connor mumbles, shifting so that the dragonbone isn’t poking him in the spine. “I - How - “

“You’re alright,” Hank soothes, his voice right in Connor’s ear. “You’re okay, you’re alive.”

“Sort of,” Connor corrects, chuckling breathlessly. “What did - What did you do?”

“Cut myself with my knife,” Hank explains, the injured arm shifting down to wrap around Connor’s waist. “You said you needed fresh blood, and since I was the only one around…”

Connor nods in understanding. “Feel like I could sleep for a century,” he mutters. “I think… Hand me one of my blood potions, I think it’ll help with that. I don’t want to feed from you any more.”

“Connor, I don’t mind - “

“We still need to fight Vyrthur,” Connor reminds Hank. “I’ll be fine with a blood potion, now. No need for you to lose any more blood before we even get started with that.”

Hank looks like he wants to protest, a stubborn tilt to his jaw that loosens when he sighs. “Alright. In your pack, right?”

“Yes.” Connor’s regaining more strength by the moment, here in the shade of the wrecked wall and without such monumental damage to try to heal, but it still feels like an overwhelming prospect to try to lift his head from where it’s fallen against Hank’s shoulder. He doesn’t move, and Hank seems to be moving slowly, carefully, like he doesn’t want to disturb Connor. It makes Connor’s chest go tight in a way that’s become increasingly - _distressingly_ \- familiar in the weeks he’s traveled with Hank. 

Connor’s old enough, experienced enough, to know what that tightness means, but he pushes the thought away for the moment. He can deal with that _later,_ when Amanda isn’t threatening his entire species with a half-thought plan fueled by a lust for power. He deal with it _later,_ when Hank is back with the Companions and Connor’s back on the road. 

Maybe he’ll take a vacation to Morrowind; he hasn’t been there a hundred years or so.

* * *

“Well this place isn’t creepy at all,” Hank mutters; even that soft sound echoes off of the ice surrounding them, and Connor can’t help but snort. Hank’s comment doesn’t distract him from examining the frozen Falmer, though.

“This isn’t a spell like any I know,” Connor muses, one hand raised, magicka pulsing as he tries to find a resonance, a similar spell that will tell him what they’re going up against further into the temple. “And…” His other hand raises, magicka gathering, releasing in a soft wave that pours over the Falmer surrounding them.

“What was that?”

“Detect Life,” Connor answers. “See how their chests are lit up, now? They’re alive under this ice. I wouldn’t recommend touching them or trying to take anything from their frozen hands; you may wake the one you touch, and I don’t know if that will also wake the others.”

Hank makes a face. “I’d rather not deal with a literal army of pissed-off Falmer, thanks. Let’s just find the fucking Archcurate and get this over with.”

Connor can’t help a quiet chuckle at that, another wave of magicka leaving his hand, stronger this time, more directed. “He’s this way,” Connor announces, confident, as he strides forward, towards one of the corridors leading away from the entrance hall. 

“And what spell was _that?_” Hank asks, tone curious as he falls into place beside Connor, shoulders brushing as they follow the corridor. 

“Clairvoyance. Helps show me the way to my current goal, which is killing this Snow Elf so the _other_ Snow Elf can give us Auriel’s Bow.” The glow brightens, and Connor’s steps slow. “You should take point; you’re the one with a shield.”

“Good idea,” Hank hums. “We close?”

“Very. Around the next bend, I think.”

Hank hefts his shield, slides his sword from its sheath, and Connor calls up the Bound Bow, the two of them taking in a deep breath in unison before they round the corner.

* * *

By the time Vyrthur pulls down the ceiling and walls of the temple, Connor is _furious._ Hiding behind a wall of ice, fine. Connor never expected the man to play fair. Waking up wave after wave of frozen Falmer and Chaurus? A bit underhanded, but still. Same answer as the first; no reason to expect the man to play fair. But the revelation that Vyrthur had _faked_ the Elder Scrolls’ prophecy, had _lured_ Connor in for some - some harebrained _revenge_ scheme against a fucking _deity - _

Connor pauses only long enough to be sure that Hank wakes up before he storms from the rubble. Vyrthur looks triumphant, standing on the balcony, mouth open to deliver a monologue about how he’s been _wronged,_ no doubt, and Connor is _done._

The change _rips_ through him in a way it seldom has before; Connor continues advancing on Vyrthur as he changes, takes a vicious sort of satisfaction in the way that Vyrthur’s eyes widen as Connor approaches him. 

“You want my blood so _fucking_ badly?” Connor hisses, hands flexing, claws scraping against his own palm. “You’ll have to earn it.”

Vyrthur had been changed by a lesser vampire; he has no extra reserves to draw back on, no spell more powerful than anything Connor can use to counter it. His centuries of waiting have dulled his skills with physical fighting, if he had any to begin with. Breaking past his defenses is laughably easy, and from there it’s only a few moments of wrestling before Connor gets a grip on Vyrthur that the lesser vampire can’t break. 

Hank’s barely made it to the top of the balcony stairs before Vyrthur’s broken body hits the ground. 

“Well,” Hank pants, sheathing his sword after giving Vyrthur a poke for good measure. “That was… anticlimactic, after everything we went through to get up here.”

“He was angry, and thought - I don’t know what he thought,” Connor says, making a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “That he could beat a _god,_ somehow.”

Hank’s quiet for a moment, and then laughs - just once, a huff of breath that lacks all traces of humor. “I know it feels, to want to try that,” he mutters. “When you’re mad enough… When you feel _betrayed_ enough… You think there has to be some way to make it better, or at least make them hurt as much as you do.”

There’s something _aching_ beneath Hank’s voice, and Connor hesitates, letting the shift fall away before he reaches out, lays a careful, gentle hand on Hank’s shoulder. Connor opens his mouth to say - something, _do_ something, but is interrupted by the well at the center of the balcony shivering, lifting up to reveal another Wayshrine, and Hank beats Connor to speaking, drawing in a deep breath and reaching up, laying his own hand over Connor’s squeezing once, almost too tight but not tight enough. 

“We need to go talk to Gelebor,” he murmurs, head turned towards Connor, tilted just enough that Connor can hear him over the scrape of stone against stone. 

Connor resists the urge to lean in closer, just nods and lets Hank move out from under his hand. He flexes his fingers, resists the urge to put his other hand over the part of his hand that Hank had covered, and follows Hank down the steps. 


	6. Kindred Judgment

Auriel’s bow is a warm, heavy weight against Hank’s back as he rows them towards the island that Castle Kaiberlaife is perched on. He can’t see his own arms, the rowboat he’s sitting in, or Connor across from him, though he can see the water beneath them. “This is still really fuckin’ weird,” he mutters.

“Hank, I need to concentrate.” Connor’s voice drifts from in front of him, a gentle, amused reprimand. “And  _ you _ need to concentrate on where we’re going. We need to land on the west side of the island, remember.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Hank grumbles, shifting his grip in order to adjust their course. The rest of the voyage is quiet except for the sound of water slapping against a boat that doesn't seem to be there. Once they’re out of sight of the guard tower, Connor finally drops the invisibility spell so that Hank can get them docked.

“Alright, let’s go,” Connor says, barely louder than a murmur after he’s gotten out of the boat.

“You sure about this?” Hank asks, frowning as he climbs out after Connor. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of - “

“And I’ve seen what  _ they’re _ capable of,” Connor counters. “Trust me, Hank, this will work.”

Hank blows out a breath, tries to roll the tension out of his shoulders. “Of course. Alright, let’s go.”

Connor and Hank make their way carefully towards the watchtower; Connor had explained that there was only ever one guard at the tower at a time, because no one ever came this far out. The guard’s job was to keep an eye out for any returning vampires and provide the first welcome than to try to keep anyone out, truthfully. As such, whoever was on guard duty would not be a challenge to subdue. 

The two of them make their way into the tower without being spotted, and Hank takes point up the stairs to the top of the tower. He can hear the vampire moving around. When the footsteps draw closer to the stairs, Hank doesn’t hesitate before he charges the last couple of steps. He hits the vampire like a ton of bricks, knocking him on his ass and providing the perfect opening for Connor to hit him with a spell that ends him almost instantly, turns him into little more than a smoking husk.

“Well, that’s one way to take out a vampire,” Hank says dryly. “Give me a moment to get set up before you step out, alright?”

“Of course.” Connor hesitates at the top of the stairs, turning back towards Hank. Hank’s heart trips over itself in his chest at the look on Connor’s face - a look that Hank thinks he could name if he let himself. 

“Connor?” Hank’s grateful that his voice doesn’t shake, even if he’s disappointed when Connor simply smiles.

“Don’t miss.”

* * *

Hank nocks one of the Sunhallowed Arrows that Gelebor had given them, watching as Connor approaches the bridge leading to the front gates. He walks confidently, the breeze off of the Sea of Ghosts billowing his shirt and tousling his hair. He stops at the crest of the arch, pitches his voice so that it carries. “Chloe! I need to speak to Amanda.”

Hank trains his arrow on the doorway, breathing slowly so his aim remains true as Chloe calls back her answer. “You know she’ll not speak to you unless she’s gloating over your corpse, Connor.”

“She’ll speak to me while I’m alive,” Connor calls, confident. “Or she’ll never find the Bow.”

There’s silence for so long that it makes Hank consider calling out to Connor, but he refrains from doing so. His patience is rewarded when the gate lifts with a creak and scrape of ancient mechanisms and metal. Another voice calls out, still feminine but much more authoritative. “Connor? I must admit I thought I’d never see you try to walk in the front gates again.”

“And you still haven’t, Amanda,” Connor answers. “I’m not trying to walk through the front gates. I’ve no intention of stepping inside of that castle while you’re in charge.”

“So what  _ are _ you doing here, then?”

“I have these,” Connor says, pulling one of the Scrolls out of his pack. “And I know what the prophecy as a whole says. Without me and the knowledge of how to read them, you’ll never find the Bow.”

“Once I have the Scrolls, I can wait to find another translator,” Amanda calls. “You’re on the island, Connor; you’ll never make it off of this rock alive.”

“I’ve only got two Scrolls, Amanda,” Connor counters. “You’ll still need to find the third. Are you really willing to wait that long?”

There’s silence again, and then Amanda steps forward, still in the shadow of the gate, but it’s far enough for Hank to take aim. “What is it, exactly, that you want, Connor?” Amanda asks; even from this distance, Hank can see the suspicion on her expression. 

“What I want?” Connor says as Hank takes a deep breath, holds it, and draws the string on the Bow. “I’d think it should be obvious, Amanda.”

Amanda frowns, but before she can do or say anything, Hank releases the Sunhallowed Arrow from Auriel’s Bow. Hank’s not as skilled an archer as Connor, but he’s good enough to hit just about any target at this close range. The arrow hits just to the right of the center of her chest. It explodes on impact, almost blinding Hank in the tower. It definitely blinds the vampires at the gate; no one’s done anything more than yell by the time Hank gets a second arrow nocked, drawn, and released. This one hits Amanda in the arm, but the second burst of sunlight finishes the job. 

Amanda dies with a furious scream, lurching forward for Connor - but she crumbles into ash before she crosses even half the distance between them. 

There’s silence for the span of several heartbeats before Hank sees movement in the entryway. He can see the flicker of magicka in Connor’s hand; Hank nocks another arrow, just in case, but it turns out to be unnecessary. Connor relaxes when he spots the vampire coming out of the castle, magicka dispersing, and Hank lets himself relax as well. “Markus,” Connor calls out. “I assume you have no problem with Amanda being dead?”

“As long as you’ll help us clear out her lackeys,” Markus answers. “You and the archer you’ve set up on our watchtower.”

Connor laughs. “Of course.” He turns towards the tower, raises a hand, and Hank lets himself straighten. “Come on down, Hank; we’re not finished yet.”

“Of course not,” Hank calls, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be right down.”

* * *

Once the last of Amanda’s lackeys are dead, Hank and Connor meet with Markus in the main hall. Hank supposes he should feel nervous, surrounded by vampires, but with Connor at his shoulder, he can’t feel anything but safe. 

That… might be a problem. But if it is, it’s a problem for later.

Hank doesn’t contribute much to the following conversation, though ‘conversation’ is a misnomer. Markus, apparently the second in command during Amanda’s ‘reign,’ doesn’t even get halfway through offering Connor Castle Kaiberlaife and leadership of the family before Connor’s spitting out a rejection; judging by Markus’s laughter, he’d expected nothing less. “We’ll get word to Niles and Elijah that it’s safe to return,” he promises Connor, gaze flicking to Hank, something assessing in the mismatch of his eyes that makes Hank fight the urge to squirm. 

“Thank you,” Connor says gratefully, drawing Markus’s gaze back to him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can be, once we return the Bow.”

Markus nods in understanding, turning back towards the other vampires milling around the main hall. Connor touches Hank’s elbow, nudges him into a turn. “We should get going,” he murmurs as Markus starts speaking, something that sounds a lot like the kind of speeches that Jeffrey gave after a grueling hunt.

“Yeah,” Hank agrees, turning easily with Connor’s touch. He’ll be all too glad to leave this bloody castle behind.

The journey back to Darkfall Cave and the Wayshrine that leads to the ruined temple is far less exciting than Hank had thought it might be. He and Connor are quiet for most of it; Hank’s lost in his thoughts, and he thinks that Connor might be as well. Hank’s mostly consumed with thoughts of what comes next, after they return Auriel’s Bow to its guardian, once they’re finally done with the quest that Connor had embarked on and dragged Hank into. 

The problem, Hank’s finally letting himself realize, is that he doesn’t want the two of them to go their separate ways. He wants to keep traveling with Connor, wants to fight alongside him and spend nights by the fire talking until the moons are high in the sky. He wants to hunt alongside Connor, he wants….

Hank wants  _ everything. _ He wants everything with Connor, whatever Connor will give him, let him have. He hasn’t felt this way in… Actually, he hasn’t felt like  _ this _ ever before. With Laelette, it hadn’t been this easy, it had been more of a convenience than anything. Divines know that Hank had loved Cole, and he’d loved Laelette, but.

He thinks that this, what he’s starting to feel for Connor, it might be  _ more _ than anything else he’s felt before. 

They find the cave easily; the second trek through is quieter than the first had been, and the Wayshrine is still active when they arrive. They step through only long enough to meet with Gelebor and hand over both Auriel’s Bow and the Sunhallowed Arrows that Gelebor had blessed for their fight with Amanda. Gelebor seems surprised that they’re returning the Bow to him, but he accepts it nonetheless, and sends them back through the Wayshrine with well wishes.

Hank catches Connor looking at him more than once as they hike back through the cave, but he doesn’t say anything until they’re standing in the foggy morning sun. “So. Any idea what you want to do now?”

Connor’s hood is up, but Hank can see the pensive look on his face even in the shade it provides. “I don’t know,” he answers after a long silence. “I’ve just been… moving from century to century. But I don’t think I want to do that any more.”

“Oh?” Hank asks, encouraging, even as his heart leaps into his throat. 

“I saw what the centuries of being unchallenged as a predator did to Elijah, the way it drove him to want  _ more. _ And how it did the same to Amanda, in a different way. I don’t want to end up like them.” Connor laughs quietly, but it’s lacking any trace of humor. “I don’t know how to stop that, though, and I don’t want to die.”

Hank licks his lips and asks in a careful tone, “What about being cured?”

Connor looks at him in surprise. “There’s no cure for the vampirism I have,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s arguing. 

“Maybe not from an alchemist, but. I knew a man, Falion, in Morthal. He’s dedicated his life to studying vampires. He might know something, somewhere to start looking, at least.”

Connor glances down and away. “Maybe,” he says, noncommittal. “I’ll think about it.”

Hank nods, letting the subject drop for the moment. “Well, I’m going to ride back to Whiterun,” he says, changing the subject. “If you’re heading that way, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Hank’s heart stutters at the small smile Connor gives him. “I’d like that.”

* * *

They pass their time on the road with idle chatter about everything and nothing, punctuated by periods of easy silence, surrounded by the sounds of the forest they’re riding through. The silence changes after they start down the main road from Haafingar and into Hjaalmarch, becomes heavier. When they reach the first crossroads with a sign pointing towards Morthal, Hank isn’t surprised when Connor speaks up. “Hank, I - I think I’m going to talk with Falion.”

Hank reins Moby into a stop, turning to look at Connor. “You’re sure?” he asks, searching Connor’s expression.

It’s nearly unreadable, but Hank thinks he sees some hint of fondness, maybe something a little like regret. “I’m sure,” Connor says, voice steady. “I need to know if it’s  _ possible. _ And I’m tired of being alone, standing apart from the rest of the world. I want to see the sun and the day without feeling like someone’s trying to stab me in the eye.”

Hank laughs, barely more than a huffing breath. “Well,” he sighs, “if you survive whatever he puts you through… You know where to find me.”

Connor laughs, quiet and definitely fond, as he turns Nyxa down the road he needs. “I do. Goodbye, Hank.”

“Goodbye, Connor.”

Connor clucks to Nyxa, and Hank touches his heels to Moby’s side, the two of them riding in different directions.

Neither of them look back.


	7. Epilogue

It’s almost depressing, how easily life returns to normal. Hank returns to Jorrvaskr, reports his and Connor’s success to Jeffrey, and then… goes back to drinking and hunting, occasionally poking fun at Gavin and the new recruits whenever the opportunity presents itself. He’s only slightly more social than he had been before, barely enough for Ben or Jeffrey to comment on. Hank still prefers the company of his dog to any of the other two-legged inhabitants of Jorrvaskr, though, so as far as the majority of the Companions are concerned, nothing’s changed.

Hank does start doing some research, however. He treks up the stairs to Dragonsreach to speak with Farengar and peruse his books, speaks with Belethor and arranges for a shipment of books. He hasn’t spent gold on much of anything but mead and wine and ale for the past few years, and so has more than enough to afford the frankly outrageous fee that Belethor charges him for the service. Jeffrey has one book on the subject, which he lends to Hank, and which Hank is bent over, Sumo on his feet, when Gavin finds him three weeks after his return from Castle Kaiberlaife 

“Hey, Anderson! Got a new recruit who requested you for their first fight,” Gavin calls, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe of Hank’s quarters. 

Hank frowns, not looking up from his book as he replies, “I’m not fighting some impudent pup who just wants to say they fought the Dragonborn.”

Gavin laughs. “Trust me, he doesn’t want to fight you because you’re the Dragonborn.” There’s a smirk curving his mouth when Hank looks up, which widens into a grin when Hank rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet.

“Alright, fine,” he sighs. “He give you a name?”

“Yes. Also asked me not to tell you what it is, though.”

Hank groans. “Great. Fine, but if he’s some Dragonborn fan, I’m letting Sumo eat your socks.”

Gavin’s laughter follows him through the living quarters, only muffled when Hank shuts the door behind himself and Sumo. “Ass,” Hank mutters to himself, passing a hand over Sumo’s head as the hound bounds up the steps to the main hall. Hank waves at Ben, Tina, and Jeffrey when they call a greeting, focused on the door that leads to the training yard behind Jorrvaskr. Sumo perks up,  _ boof _ ing under his breath when Hank pushes open the door, bolting out before Hank’s got it all the way open.

“Sumo, what the - “ Hank’s interrupted by the sound of a laugh he thought he’d never hear again, and he stops dead in his tracks, the door to Jorrvaskr swinging shut behind him as he takes in the sight of Sumo throwing himself at  _ Connor, _ who’s kneeling in the dirt to brace himself for the impact, laughing freely. It takes Hank far too long to find his voice, and when he speaks, it still sounds strangled. “ _ Connor? _ ”

Connor looks up, hands still buried in Sumo’s fur, and Hank nearly reels from the sight of soft brown eyes in a face he’s only dreamt of the past weeks. “Hi, Hank,” he says, quiet, a small smile on his face that wavers around the corners, belying his nervousness. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Hank manages to get out as Connor straightens, unable to look away from the eyes that suit Connor’s face far more than the gleaming red ever had. “I - I, uh, didn’t think I would. Again.”

Connor laughs quietly. “Well, it took a while to find what Falion needed for the cure,” he explains. “But… I’m human now. Or, I’m human  _ again, _ rather.”

Hank steps forward, keeps going until he’s in arm’s reach of Connor. He has to stop himself there, keep that last little bit of distance between them to keep from stepping on Sumo’s feet. “You look good,” he says, just as quiet as Connor’s laugh had been. “Not that you didn’t, before, but. You look… happier, maybe. More settled.”

Connor reaches down to give Sumo one last pat before he gently nudges the hound aside. “I am,” he admits, his gaze flicking over Hank’s face before he reaches out, his fingers brushing against the back of Hank’s hand for a moment before he takes Hank’s hand in his. “It’s… It’s really good to see you, Hank.”

Hank lets Connor take his hand, shifts his until he can twine their fingers together. “It’s good to see you, too,” he says honestly, letting himself close the distance between them, because - because Connor’s  _ here. _ He’s here, and Hank had thought he would never be again. Hank takes a deep breath, and takes that last step. “I missed you.”

Connor’s gaze softens as he bites his lip, glancing down to Hank’s mouth before meeting his gaze again. “I missed you, too,” he breathes, leaning in, and Hank - his heart in his throat - meets him halfway. The kiss is short and sweet, and Hank doesn’t even realize his eyes have slid shut until he opens them when Connor pulls back. 

Hank swallows down his heart, searching Connor’s face before he lets himself speak. “How long have you wanted to do that?”

Connor laughs quietly. “Since you fed me on the lake, if not longer,” he confesses. “You?”

“When I saw you surrounded by those glowing moths. It felt like someone had hit me in the chest with a warhammer,” Hank answers. “It scared me, honestly.”

“It scared me, too,” Connor admits, squeezing Hank’s hand in his. “But… I want to give this a try. Being human,  _ living _ \- I want to try it all with you.”

Hank bites back his smile, until he remembers that they’re alone out in the training yard. He lets the smile bloom then, rewarded by an answering smile on Connor’s face. “I want the same.”

* * *

Connor is easily accepted into the Companions; there’s some teasing from the others when they see the way that Connor and Hank orbit each other, the way they  _ look _ at each other, but it’s good-natured, and they take it in stride. Connor practically invites himself into Hank’s quarters that first night, and he just… never leaves. 

Many new recruits need some kind of training, but not Connor; he steps into the role of a Companion with an almost enviable ease. He even manages to charm Gavin into not being a  _ complete _ dick to him within the first week - though that might have something to do with how quickly Connor disarms him and puts him on his back during a sparring session. Hank and Tina may or may not laugh so hard they lose their footing and fall onto the ground at the shock on Gavin’s face. 

Nights at the Hall and out in the wilds of Skyrim are suddenly a lot less lonely; he and Connor haven’t done anything besides kiss and occasionally let their hands wander, but sharing a bed or a roll with someone else makes a world of difference, in Hank’s opinion. Waking up with his arms around Connor, Connor’s arm around him, Sumo lying over their legs quickly becomes Hank’s favorite part of the day. 

Through it all, however, Hank keeps researching, and a month after Connor joins the Companions, he finally asks Hank about it. They’re in bed, candle flickering on the table beside them as Hank pores over one of the books that Belethor had located for him. “You’ve been studying this book a lot, lately,” Connor says from where he’s pressed against Hank’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder, one leg thrown over Hank’s. “Interesting read?”

Hank hums. “I feel like it’s the missing puzzle piece,” he says. “To find the Glenmoril Coven.”

Connor stills. “The - You said they were wiped out.”

“That’s what we’d thought. But…” Hank takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking, and. I told you that I didn’t want the change all that much in the first place.”

“I remember,” Connor says softly, his arms tightening around Hank in a show of comfort. “Is it possible?”

“If I can find the Coven, or maybe their descendants, I think it is,” Hank answers. “In the book that’s been passed from Harbinger to Harbinger, it details a ritual involving them. They were the ones who struck the deal with the Circle in the first place, and their blood can undo it.”

Connor doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Okay,” he finally says. “So, where do we start looking?”

Hank laughs quietly. “That’s the hard part. The last time the Glenmoril Coven was heard from was centuries ago, and who knows where they might have gone since then. But the last record puts them in the western part of Falkreath, almost in the Reach.”

“Then we start there,” Connor says, determination lighting his expression. “And we keep looking and asking until we run out of leads.”

Hank blinks. “We?”

“Yes, we,” Connor repeats. “You really think I’d let you go off on a quest like this on your own?”

Hank barks out a laugh, setting the book on the nightstand before shifting down and wrapping his arms around Connor. “Of course you aren’t,” he says, tone fond. “Even though  _ you _ went off on your quest on your own.”

“I just needed to go to the Manor and pick up a filled black soul gem,” Connor says dismissively. “It wasn’t that exciting or complicated. But this sounds like it could be both.”

“It could be,” Hank agrees. “Life-threatening, even, if they’ve all turned into hagravens.”

Connor laughs. “Hagravens haven’t scared me in a long time, Hank. You’ll need to do better than that if you want to convince me to stay behind.”

Hank shakes his head, a smile curving his mouth as he pulls Connor in closer for a kiss. “Now why would I want to do a thing like that?”


End file.
